One Year, One Life
by Wingardium Leviosa 11
Summary: When Draco is forced to live with Hermione Granger for one year as part of a "reintroduction" program after the war, both of their lives get turned upside down. It's up to Hermione to convince the Wizarding World that Draco is not a menace to society... but it's up to Draco to first convince her. Can these two former enemies become friends? Or possibly even more? T, might turn M
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A.N. Long-time reader, first time writer! Typical disclaimer - don't own anything, just enjoy writing.

"Just give it a chance! I guarantee it will work!" Hermione Granger stated this with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"I just don't know, Hermione. I know your intentions are good, but I'm not sure I follow the logic," Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic responded as he walked hurriedly down the hall, Hermione struggling to keep up to him. "When I appointed you head of this committee-

"_Co-_head" Hermione's partner, Michael Corner, asserted under his breath.

"That doesn't even make sense!" Hermione whispered back, narrowing her eyes.

Kingsley stopped suddenly and turned around, staring down Hermione and Michael, who suddenly looked like guilty children.

"_As I was saying_," Kingsley continued, trying desperately to ignore the immaturity of his two appointees. "When I appointed you to this committee I encouraged you to think outside the box and get creative with your solutions, but this just seems a little…"

"Crazy?" Michael finished for him. Kingsley made to disagree, but after a moment's pause, nodded his reluctant assent and began walking down the hall again.

"Well _I _still think we should go with my suggestion and just obliviate their memories - make them start from scratch," declared Corner.

And thus they were stuck in the same debate they had had all morning.

The Problem: What to do with the former Death Eaters after the war. There were the obvious answers: Lucius Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback, Dolohov - all the big names were sent to Azkaban without parole for life. But what about those of the younger generation? Gregory Goyle? Draco Malfoy? Pansy Parkinson? Although all were former Slytherins, there was hardly a way to dock house points, and even if there were, this would do nothing to really reform them. Punishment wasn't enough and wouldn't ensure a safe society. Thus, the Minister had created the Committee on D E Reintroduction - he tried to use the initials to hide the nasty words: Death Eater. Until a permanent solution could be reached, former Death Eaters and sympathizers were being kept in a temporary prison.

In one corner, there was Michael Corner, 6'2, 165 lbs, whose solution for dealing with former (and possibly current) Death Eaters was to obliviate their entire minds - their memories, their sense of self, and all acquired knowledge. They would then be raised in an environment that would educate (Hermione would use the word "brainwash") them into being decent human beings.

In the other corner, there was Hermione Granger, 5'5 when she stood straight up and let her hair poof a little, 125 lbs (well, let's say 120 for her sake), whose solution for dealing with their former enemies was to submit them to some sort of summer camp / new stepsibling bonding ritual by which each Death Eater would be paired with a wizard who had fought on their side of the war and would be forced to live with that wizard for one year, during which they could have no access to magic or any aspects of their former lives, including their bank accounts.

The logic of this approach did not make much sense to anyone but Hermione Granger. When she concocted the plan, her mind was filled with images of Pansy Parkinson and Hannah Abbott painting each other's nails, eating ice cream out of the carton while watching girly movies, and pushing each other on swings while "You've Got a Friend in Me" played in the background. Somehow, her description to Shacklebolt and Corner fell short of her own daydream. She couldn't replicate the soundtrack at all.

So here she was, in the Minister's office, begging him to give her plan a shot. One year was definitely enough time to change someone's ways - to show them that there was life after Voldemort.

"You really think that just by living with wizards like us, Death Eaters would turn around?" Michael asked her skeptically.

"Well, it's more than that," Granger began, choosing her words carefully so as not to sound too idealistic. "They would see our lifestyle - lives filled with doing good and having fun, not with bigotry and hatred. They would see muggles and muggle-born witches and wizards as humans. I think that once they see how possible the alternative is, many will leap at the opportunity-"

"Especially when the alternative is a life in Azkaban," Michael finished for her.

"Yes," Hermione acknowledged, "especially when that is the alternative. I just have a good feeling about this. Please let me give it a shot!" She was practically begging now.

"But if they know that all they have to do is live with someone for a year and then claim to be reformed, won't they get off easy? I mean, is there any way to prove that they are really reformed? How can we judge the effectiveness?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm still working out that last bit," Hermione nervously bit her lip, but then continued quickly "But they won't know the final judgment part - that's part of the plan! All they will know is that they have to live there for a year. That way, their attitude at the end will be candid, and we can judge whether or not they should be allowed to reenter society."

"But that still doesn't answer how we can measure this transformation that you seem to be deluding yourself into believing is possible!"

"Veritaserum!" Hermione shouted. "And other things! I have a whole year to figure that part out. The important thing is to start the process as soon as possible so that we can see if it works and save as many people from a life in Azkaban as we can."

As Corner began to discuss the logistics, Hermione let herself slip once again into her daydreams. Corner mentioned that since it was her plan, it should probably be her who the Death Eater stayed with during the trial run. Ok, well she could deal with that.

Now Hannah Abbott was replaced by Hermione. She and Pansy shopped together, laughed over inside jokes, and iced cupcakes while listening to Alanis Morissette and the Spice Girls. Hermione had to admit… her taste in music was a little dated. Still, images of gossiping with Pansy filled her mind, so much so that it took her a moment to realize the Minister and Michael Corner were waiting for her to respond to something.

"Ummm… I agree?" She had a 50:50 chance. Somehow, she always lost those.

"So you agree that to prove that your plan will be successful, we should start with the most challenging of the remaining Death Eaters. So tomorrow, March 24, Draco Malfoy will move in with you, for the space of one year."

"Wait WHAT!"

Hermione strode quickly and purposefully back to her office. With her wand she snapped the door shut behind her and muttered a quick silencing charm. She yanked her latest edition of _Sellman's Spellery_ and flipped directly to the index.

Skimming through the S's and T's until she came to the U's, she found exactly what she was looking for.

"Aha! 'Spells to Undo Bad Decisions'" she grinned triumphantly as she flipped to page 837. Now hopefully she could somehow correct her lack of attention to Corner's discussion and propose an… alternate suggestion. She would figure out what to suggest after she handled the bad decision part. One step at a time. Under the heading on page 837, however, she found no instructions for wand movements or magic words. Instead, she found "No such spells exist, but if you discover any, please, by all means, contact me. In the meantime, try a time turner."

Unfortunately, _Sellman's Spellery_ had not been updated since their foray into the ministry in her fifth year. Nevertheless, she figured she ought to at least give it a shot. She made a quick phone call to the Secretary of the Department of Mysteries.

"Thank you for calling the Department of Mysteries, this is Heckathorn. If you have any questions, I most likely cannot answer them, but thank you for calling regardless."

"Hi Heckathorn, this is Hermione Granger in the D E Reintroduction Department." Here was where she needed to be tricky - she decided nonchalance was probably her best tactic. "Could you please have someone bring me the ultra-secret last remaining time turner that no one knows about? Except me, of course. I know about it, because I… deal with things that… deal with time? And because the Minister trusts me - I'm Hermione Granger, you know. So yes, just have someone bring me that until now previously unmentioned time turner and -"

"Miss Granger you know no such time turner exists, and even if it did, we would not lend it out to such new and unproven departments such as the 'D E Reintroduction Department.' In fact, weren't you with the group that destroyed the time turners in the first place?"

"Well, Heckathorn, it's been great chatting but I've simply got to go! If that ultra-secret time turner _turns _up, please be sure to let me know!" She quickly hung up the phone. _Turns up_? What a dunce, she thought.

Well, there was no way around it. It looked like she was stuck with Malfoy.

Stuck with Malfoy?! Could she ever imagine a worse fate? Her images of skipping and laughter were replaced by haunting visions of shouting matches, sneers, and constant battles over the single bathroom of her flat. There was no way she could go through with this.

But she didn't have any other options, did she? No, in order to prove that her plan would work, she had to take Malfoy in.

Because if there's one thing Hermione Granger wasn't, it was wrong. As she pondered how grammatically confusing that last thought was, a memo zipped under her office door and landed on her desk.

_From the Desk of the Minister of Magic_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Thank you for agreeing to take part in the first ever test of what I hope will be a successful endeavor. Mr. Malfoy will arrive tomorrow morning (March 24) with his personal effects, at which point you may take him to your home. We will explain his new living situation to him tomorrow. He will have no wand, nor any access to personal possessions, other than basic items of clothing and hygiene. We will set up wards in your home so that he cannot access certain areas or leave without your permission. Similar spells will be placed on your wand so that he cannot use it, should he somehow acquire it. Please report to my office at 10:30 am sharp._

_Best of luck,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Well, here it was, for better or for worse. With her last ounce of hope, she flipped again to page 837 and scanned every word, searching for some way to get out of this predicament. Predictably, her effort proved unsuccessful.

It was going to be a long year.


	2. Chapter 2

I wanted to get a couple of chapters posted when first starting, so you guys sort of get an idea of where I'm going. Again, don't own HP or any of his cohorts. Happy reading!

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Chapter 2

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When she arrived home that evening, Hermione set to work preparing her apartment for her guest. Guest? Maybe prisoner was a better word. That sounded far too harsh… guest it was then.

Although her career at the Ministry didn't pay her a very high salary at the moment, she had received a sizable fortune after the war - some through bounties on death eaters, some through speaking engagements, and some through endorsements. Apparently everyone wanted to shop at the same bookstore as Hermione Granger. She didn't view herself as a sell-out however - she really did enjoy the bookstore and she insisted on only accepting half of what the owners offered her to endorse their store.

Although she put most of this money into Gringotts (she was still sensible Hermione Granger, after all), she did treat herself to a comfortable flat. She was on the third floor of a well-kept historic building (which unfortunately meant there was no elevator, but the stairs were quite lovely when one was not carrying eight bags of groceries). Upon opening the door, one was greeted with a spacious, yet cozy living room with a couch and an overstuffed chair that she absolutely loved to read in. Her favorite feature of the living room was the wall that housed both a working fireplace and 4 built-in bookshelves. She even had about six inches left on the last one to fill with books!

The living room led into a small kitchen with a separate dining room. Off the dining room was a small terrace where she enjoyed sitting in the evening with a nice cup of tea. Past the dining room was Hermione's room, which she had decorated fully in Gryffindor red and gold. At the other end of the hallway (behind the kitchen) was her bathroom and guest bedroom.

Hermione had initially painted this room blue, but now she decided it might be best to try to make her guest feel at home. With her wand, she transfigured the wall color into a dark emerald, but that made the entire room feel dark. She decided an accent wall would be much better - look at what an excellent interior decorator she made!

Encouraged by her brilliant idea, she changed the other walls to a light gray color (silver would look far too gaudy) and left the wall opposite the door the dark emerald color. She changed the bedding to match the accent wall and left the hardwood floors untouched.

"Perhaps this could work after all," she thought to herself, before preparing tea and retiring to her terrace for the evening. She couldn't exactly picture painting Malfoy's toenails, but surely he had to have grown up during the war. He couldn't still be the same old insufferable prat he always was, could he? Could he?

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She tried to carry her positive attitude from the night before to work the next day, but it was no match for the nerves that met her as soon as she entered her office. It was 9:00. She expected the remaining hour and a half to drag on, but it went surprisingly fast. Too fast in fact - it was almost 10:30 and her nerves had returned in full force.

Walking with purpose, Hermione made her way to Kingsley's office. She gave herself a mental pep talk, walked with her head held high, boldly opened the door, and was promptly greeted by a loud sneer.

As she stepped fully into the room and calmly closed the door behind her, the sneer changed to laughter.

"You expect me to live with this bint for a year!" Draco practically howled with laughter. Hermione could feel tears welling behind her eyes but refused to allow them to betray her confidence. Draco, for his part, did not look at all well. His hair was thinning and uncombed, his body far too thin, and his eyes possessed a manic spark that screamed desperation. It was hard to believe that this was the smug young boy she had grown up with.

Hermione expected Kingsley to explain the situation to Draco, but he nodded at her, encouraging her to make the first move.

"Mr. Malfoy I would ask that you refrain from hurling insults. I am actually doing you a favor," Hermione declared haughtily. At this, Draco rolled his eyes. "You have been selected to take part in the first ever trial of the D E Reintroduction Committee's new policy. Should you accept, you will be moved to my apartment for the course of one year. During that 365 days, you shall have no access to magic or your possessions - including your fortune."

"Oh please tell me more! It all sounds so thrilling!" Draco sarcastically drawled.

"Should you refuse," Hermione paused here, allowing the gravity of the situation to settle upon his shoulders, "you will be immediately sent to Azkaban. For life, without opportunity for parole."

The last words produced no reaction from Draco, who had long ago learned to steel himself against all displays of vulnerability. There was a tense moment of silence in the office - Hermione trying to act strong, but was also dying to beg him to stay and test her plan.

After a long pause, Draco responded. "Well it seems like the choice you leave me is no choice at all. As terribly, horrifically awful as I believe a year with you shall be, I still have to acknowledge that even on your worst day you are not as hideous as a dementor trying to suck out my soul. We'll see if I still believe that after this horrible year."

Hermione exhaled, trying not to jump up and down. Step 1, complete.

Now only like 235023953287502375032 steps to go.

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Although it was not even noon, everyone agreed that Hermione should take Draco home now, rather than babysit him in her office all afternoon. As the guards from the temporary prison passed off his personal effects, Hermione could not help but feel as if she was taking home a puppy or adopting a child instead of monitoring a potentially dangerous criminal. She hoped he was toilet trained.

There was some confusion as to whether or not Draco should be allowed to side-along apparate or not, but eventually they all decided that, at least temporarily, he would be allowed to, especially since it made Hermione's life much easier. Michael Corner asserted that to make the experiment "truly authentic," Hermione should have to take him on the bus, but when Hermione accidentally stomped on his left foot, he decided to let it go.

So here they were – standing outside the door to her flat. Draco beat a sarcastic drumroll on his legs as Hermione inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. As soon as they walked in, Draco dropped his bag of clothes in the entryway and plopped down on her sofa, taking care to rest his dirty shoes on a throw pillow. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Want me to show you around?"

"Nah, this is good. Hey Granger, how about you make me some lunch?"

This was going to get old really fast. Hermione had two tactics. She could be friendly and accommodating, or firm and harsh. Although it was her instinct to be friendly, she knew that she needed to earn his respect through being tough. It really _was_ like having a puppy…

"Draco Malfoy. You are not a guest in my house; you are a criminal under an extreme form of house arrest. You will follow me on a tour of the house and you will speak to me respectfully, unless you fancy being turned into a ferret again."

She kept a strong face, but Draco only laughed.

"Okay, Granger. Show me around your little hovel."

She scowled at his remark and began her tour.

"This is the living room."

"You mean the first living room?"

"The _only _living room."

"What kind of house only has one living room! The manor has four on the ground floor alone!" This tour was not off to a great start.

"What could you _possibly _need FOUR LIVING ROOMS for?"

"One for sitting, one for reading, one for lounging, and one for guests"

"And you couldn't _possibly_ do all of those in one room, could you?" Draco stared at her incredulously. Hermione decided her best tactic was to move on.

"And moving straight through here, we come to the kitchen. The _only _kitchen."

"Well of course you only have one kitchen, Granger, don't be ridiculous. Now where are your three dining rooms?" This was going to be a long day.

After showing Malfoy the _only _dining room, the _only_ terrace, and the _ONLY _bathroom, she finally came to his room. His eyes told her he was pleasantly surprised by her color choices. He even looked… happy. She held her breath, hoping for some fragment of a compliment, or at least a civil remark.

"Is this my only bedroom?"

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After an exhausting tour and a painful lunch ("We're having _sandwiches_? I thought you had an income!"), Hermione decided it was time to lay out the house rules. In true Hermione Granger fashion, she had printed and laminated a sheet of rules for him.

Hermione's House Rules

You will not leave the flat without permission and / or accompaniment. There are wards in place to prevent this.

You will be permitted in any room in the flat except for my bedroom. There are wards in place to prohibit your entrance.

Hermione will be permitted to exercise any form of discipline she sees fit, including unforgivable curses.

To avoid Azkaban, Draco Malfoy must live under house arrest for one year under the direct supervision of Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger reserves the right to add any rules to this list at any time.

She was particularly proud of number 3 and was glad she remembered to include number 5. Malfoy read through the list, rolling his eyes at each rule. When he finished, he threw the laminated sheet over his shoulder and plopped back onto her couch.

"So what am I supposed to do while I'm here? I can't use magic. I can't leave. I can't shop. A whole year! What the HELL am I supposed to do in this shithole?"

With the last word, his backside felt a shark zap.

"BLOODY HELL GRANGER!" Another zap.

"Did I mention there's no swearing?" Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

One more for tonight! Hope you enjoy :-)

I don't own Harry or Hogwarts or Hermione or Draco. But oh, if I did...

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Chapter 3

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The first few days of Draco's residency at Hermione's apartment were rough to say the least. Hermione showed him how to use the television at least 20 times and endured constant critiques of her reading selection. She tried to stay patient, but she was beginning to doubt the brilliance of her plan. How was she supposed to convert Draco Malfoy? And how could she prove it after a year? Without telling Draco the real intention of his year of detention, she was starting to doubt that he would change at all. While she hated the idea of condemning him to a life in Azkaban, she hated EVEN MORE the idea that she could be wrong, and _EVEN MORE_ the idea that she could be _PROVEN_ wrong.

She never expected work to be her sanctuary, but here it was. Every day she typed up a report of Draco's progress (thus far, she had yet to write more than an optimistic sentence or two about a "please" he uttered by accident or an hour he went without swearing). In addition to her current experiment, she was also in charge of categorizing friends from foes, as well as determining punishments.

She was flipping through Gregory Goyle's file when she heard a familiar sound that instantly made her ears perk up. She knew those shoes calmly strolling down the hallway, and judging by the volume she had about 28 seconds. She shoved the folder to the side, straightened her blouse, tried in vain to tame her hair, and peeked very quickly in the tiny mirror she kept in her desk drawer just for this purpose. She grabbed the folder again in an effort to look busy just as he rounded the corner and appeared at her office door.

"Why hello Oliver! I didn't even hear you coming! How are you? How was your vacation? Was the weather just awesome? You look tan. Did you spend much time at the beach?" WHY COULD SHE NOT STOP TALKING.

"It was quite pleasant Miss Granger. I just stopped by to thank you for watering the plant in my office while I was gone. It looks even more healthy than when I left it!" Hermione knew that growth charm would work.

"Oh, no problem, Oliver. Really no problem at all! I actually loved it! It's a nice plant. Not that it has a personality, I mean I know it's just a plant, but it's a nice one, you know? Like sometimes you just get a feeling about a plant – like sometimes you just know that it's mean, or that it's rude, but yours is nice. It's a very nice plant." She could have kicked herself.

"Yes… well… thanks again." Oliver offered a quick nod and hurried away. Hermione barely had time to charm the top of her desk into a pillow before her forehead reached it.

There was no way this day could get any worse. She heard a tap at the window and retrieved a note from her own owl – she could already predict what it said.

Granger. The television is broken. It wouldn't turn on or show the pictures or make any sound and I was quite certain it was broken. Then I threw the remote through the screen. And now it most definitely is broken. Come fix it.

She returned her forehead to her work surface.

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Hermione's day perked up a bit that afternoon when Harry stopped by to drop off files on Milicent Bulstrode. Noticing her exhaustion, he pulled up a chair.

"So is it true? Are you now babysitting Draco Malfoy?"

"I am."

"I just don't understand how this plan of yours will work. How is a year of house arrest an adequate punishment for what he did?"

Although they had agreed to keep the real experiment a secret, Hermione had asked Kingsley if she could tell Harry and Ron the truth and he had agreed. She explained the real plan to Harry, as well as her growing fears that it was impossible to achieve or even judge.

"Well you can't do it on your own, that's for sure. But I might be able to help you out. I think it's a good idea Hermione, but it's going to be tough to accomplish in that flat of yours. Why don't you bring him to Sunday brunch at the Weasleys? If anyone can turn a man good, it's Molly Weasley."

"You don't think they'd mind one more?"

"You know Molly would love more mouths to feed, especially if his attendance means you can attend too. I'll owl her this afternoon and explain the situation – but the cover, not the whole story. Bring him Sunday, and we'll figure something out."

"Thanks, Harry. I know I've said it before, but I don't know what I'd do without you."

Harry smiled, replied "Ditto," and made his way back to his office.

Hermione began to get tentatively optimistic. If Molly Weasley could kill Bellatrix, what couldn't she do?

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The sight that greeted her when she opened her door momentarily shocked her. Pictures were torn off walls, their glass panes shattered. The couch was on its side, the pillows ripped open and their stuffing scattered throughout the apartment. Book pages were strewn across the floor. It looked like a warzone. And in the middle of it, sat Draco Malfoy, a smirk on his face.

Hermione scowled, raised her wand, and uttered "Reparo totalium." Immediately the glass reconnected, fitted itself back into the frames, and the pictures returned to the walls. The couch righted itself and the pillows returned to their former plumpy glory. The book pages sorted themselves out and rejoined their books, which flew back to their alphabetized position on her bookshelves. After about twenty seconds, her apartment was completely restored.

"There goes a whole day's work, down the drain. Thanks a ton, Granger." Draco threw his arms in the air.

"I need to get you a hobby."

"Oh, look, the TV's fixed. Out of the way, Granger." He settled down on the couch and flipped to the Game Show Network, which had become his daily obsession. Hermione made her way to the kitchen as Draco shouted (mostly incorrect) answers at the screen and mercilessly ridiculed contestants who (also) answered incorrectly.

Over dinner, Hermione raised the subject of Sunday brunch with Draco.

"You expect me to _eat_ at that rat's nest! Absolutely not. Out of the question. I will absolutely not go, no matter how much you zap my buttocks or no matter what colors you transfigure my bedroom into."

"You know, I can block the game show network."

"You fight dirty, Granger."

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On Sunday at 10:00, Hermione and a very pouty Draco apparated to the Burrow.

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Before leaving, Hermione had gone over the rules with Draco one more time.

"No calling anyone Weasel, Weaslette, or any other derogatory form of Weasley. No making fun of people with red hair, freckles, or… lanky bodies. Be polite to everyone, especially Molly. For every misstep, you go a day without the game show network. And yes, that includes Million Dollar Pyramid."

Draco gasped.

"Fine, Granger. Is there anything I _can _do?"

"Absolutely. You can smile, you can eat, you can talk politely, you can-"

"Great, got it. Let's just go. The sooner we go the sooner we can get home and I can watch my shows."

As they disapparated, Hermione decided she needed to wean him off of that television.

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If an anonymous observer was at the Burrow who had no prior knowledge of Voldemort, the war, or Draco Malfoy, he or she would have thought Molly Weasley was greeting a long lost nephew. She immediately pulled him into a hug and tousled his hair. Holding him in front of her at arm's length, she surveyed his appearance.

"Hermione, what have you been feeding him? _Have_ you been feeding him?"

Draco pouted pathetically, absorbing Molly's sympathy.

It wasn't exactly the welcome Hermione expected, but she decided to take advantage of the break from babysitting Malfoy and ran to find Harry and Ron while Molly ushered a confused-looking Draco into the kitchen.

She found Harry and Ron on a picnic blanket in the yard and sat down with them. After a year of close quarters searching for horcruxes, she found that she missed the simplicity of proximity. Resting her head on Ron's stomach and thumb-wrestling with Harry, she found the moment of calm she had desired for weeks. No matter what else was going on in her life, nothing mattered as much as this.

Breaking up her moment of bliss, Ron brought up the current bane of her existence.

"So Harry tells me you've taken it upon yourself to convert the ferret. Personally, I think you're barking, but I also know better than to try to argue with you. I don't have to talk to him, do I?

"You don't _have_ to, Ron, but I wish you would. I think he needs male friends. Or any friends for that matter."

The three lounged about talking lazily of Ron's on-again, off-again relationship with Lavender, Harry's rekindling of his romance with Ginny, and Hermione's non-existent love life for the next 30 minutes. A loud bell from the kitchen roused them to brunch. As they settled around the table, magically enlarged to hold the platters of pancakes, french toast, waffles, bacon, sausage, biscuits, muffins, and other delicious looking foods, Hermione noticed the overwhelmed look on Draco's face.

Molly sat at the head of the table, with Draco positioned to her left. She piled his plate high with everything on the table and watched eagerly as he tentatively took his first bite. He nodded his approval and she clapped her hands, delighted. Hermione wasn't sure who was happier, Molly for the chance to nurture, Draco for some real food, or Hermione for the chance to stay away from him.

Hermione expected the conversation to be awkward, but everyone acted as if Draco wasn't even there. Brunch passed in the normal fashion with everyone talking loudly over everyone else, Percy squawking about George stealing his muffin top, and Ginny and Harry sharing sneaky smiles. Draco looked shell-shocked and did not utter a single word. Hermione decided to take it as a blessing and enjoyed herself in spite of his discomfort. She thought it nice revenge for Draco's little destructive spree in her living room earlier that week.

Normally after brunch everyone would have moved outside for a game of Quidditch, but Fleur and Bill were coming to visit later that day, which meant Mrs. Weasley put everyone to work cleaning the Burrow. Hermione finally decided to take pity on Draco and head home. Molly offered Hermione a quick half-hug before moving on to Draco. She hugged him, tousled his hair, pinched his cheeks, told him how wonderful it was to have him there, and hugged him again. It took all Hermione had to pry him away from her and disapparate back to her house.

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Once they returned, Hermione expected a barrage of complaining. What she got scared her even more – complete silence. Draco walked to the dining room and stood at the window, staring at the cloudy day.

"I'm not going back there again."

"Oh, come on, Draco, it wasn't that bad. Sure, Molly can be a bit overbearing, and you did have to eat a lot of food, but it wasn't that-"

"You don't get it, Granger," Draco cut her off angrily. He spun around to face her and she could see the pain in his eyes - something he normally hid so well. "You don't get it. I'm not your puppy, I'm not some child that you can tote around with you from place to place. I'm a person! But more than that… I'm… a murderer. I'm a criminal. I'm a _Death Eater_." Hermione could see his hands shaking. He turned back to the window. "This isn't a game, Granger. We're not going to have some magical year where we become best friends and I become a hero."

"That's not why you're here, Draco! It's just house arrest, just a method to prove you're not dangerous."

"But I _am_ dangerous, Granger!" He quickly crossed the room and stood directly in front of her, inches away from her face. "I'm a _Death Eater._" To emphasize his point, he raised his shirt sleeve and showed her the awful tattoo he had been forced to receive.

"I'm a Death Eater, Granger. I'm not your puppy. I can't go back there to all that… happiness. I'm not a part of this world – your world, Granger, and I never will be."

He stormed away from her and slammed his door behind him. Hermione moved to the window and eyed the clouds wearily.

She hated to admit it, but he was right. He wasn't her puppy. He was a man, a man who had experienced more trauma, more tragedy, and more rage in his 18 years than most had in their entire lives. She couldn't change his life, his values, or his prejudices. This experiment was a joke.

She moved to her terrace, upon which she had long ago cast a weather-proof charm. Normally she read here, but today she had too much on her mind. Her plan had seemed foolproof from the outset, but now she realized how little she had considered the actual process that needed to take place. What could she do for him? What could she accomplish in this year?

Staring out at the clouds, she decided to start small. She could get him to stop hating her. She could help him figure out who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with his life. Maybe she could help him deal with what he had experienced.

But most importantly, Hermione decided as she watched the first raindrops fall on the sidewalk, she could be his friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

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A/N: Still don't own anything! I know that my version of the characters is a little lighter than most, but I think it's important to remember that when graduating Hogwarts, they're only 17 or 18. They've been through a war and some incredibly serious stuff, but I have to believe they'd still get a little silly sometimes. Plus, things will get more serious down the road. Ok, enough of that. Enjoy the chapter! Thanks for the reviews! Also, sorry for the weird dots - I can't figure out how to incorporate blank lines into this text editor, so am using the dots.

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Although Hermione wanted to become friends with Draco, she figured he probably needed a cooling off period first, so she did not object when he spent the rest of Sunday in his room, only emerging to use the restroom and retrieve his dinner. On Monday she headed straight to work without waking him up. It was a good thing she did too, because she had a lot of work waiting for her. Several former Death Eaters were claiming that they had been under the Imperius Curse for the bulk of the war and were thus appealing their convictions. To Hermione, this meant mountains of paperwork. Although she had often exceeded the page limit on her essays at Hogwarts, she was now growing to appreciate the merits of brevity.

After working all morning, Hermione took a break and leaned back in her office chair. She caught her reflection in her office window and realized how haggard she looked. Pulling out a small mirror, she examined the damage. Hair: Frizzy. Makeup: Gone. The poppyseed muffin this morning had been delicious, but had left behind a few seeds in her teeth. As she tried to tame her hair and pick the seeds out of her teeth, she heard the worst sound she could possibly imagine – Oliver Wood's footsteps. She had to triage and decided the seeds had to go. She plucked the last one out, threw the mirror in her desk drawer, and hoped against hope that Oliver found frizzy hair attractive.

"Hermione, do you have that file on Thorfinn Rowle?"

"Ummm… yes I do! I'm sure I do!" She wasn't at all sure she did, but she hated to disappoint Oliver. In her enthusiasm to find the file, she knocked over a tall stack of papers which scattered all over the floor of her office.

"How stupid of me!" She reached down to scoop up the pages and, in the process, knocked her tea straight onto her blouse. Could this get any worse? She began muttering to herself and searching for anything she could use as a towel. Before she could make any more of a fool out of herself, Oliver held up his hands.

"Hermione, stop! Use your wand for goodness sakes!" Oh, that. Suddenly remembering that she was, in fact, a witch, Hermione retrieved her wand from her desk and with a couple quick spells, she had cleaned the tea from her blouse, reorganized the spilt papers, retrieved the file Oliver wanted, and surreptitiously flattened her frizzy hair. At least one good thing had come of this fiasco.

She handed Oliver the file with an embarrassed smile. Clearly uncomfortable, he nodded and quickly backed out of her office.

Hermione sat back in her chair and exhaled a large sigh. How was it possible that she had never received less than top marks on every single assignment she had handed in at Hogwarts, that she had always read twice as much as everyone else and often memorized key passages, that she had spent more time in the library than the rest of her house _combined_, and she still couldn't get through a simple conversation with an attractive man?

Her afternoon passed with no further interruptions and at 5:00 she flooed home, exhausted and only faintly worried about what terrors her houseguest had in store for her.

She arrived home to find Draco at his usual perch, shouting letters at the Wheel of Fortune puzzle. When he saw Hermione, he instantly stopped and stood to retreat back to his cave. Hermione had had enough of his aloofness and silent treatment, however.

"Hold up, Malfoy." Now she paused. What should she say? After a moment of hesitation, Draco rolled his eyes and continued to his room.

With nothing to say, she gave up and let him go, sighing as the door slammed behind him.

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was cook dinner, but seeing as some stupid wizard had decided a long stupid time ago that wizards couldn't make stupid food with stupid magic, she reached in the cupboard for a pot.

Draco sat in his room, stewing. He really wished she had come home five minutes later – now he would miss the bonus round.

He wasn't really sure why he wasn't talking to her. He wasn't really mad at her. In fact, he had intentionally sat in the living room when he knew she would get home, just to storm away from her.

She just didn't get it.

It's not like an afternoon with the Weasleys was going to change the views his parents had drilled into his head for eighteen years. No waffles from Molly could suddenly convince him that, aww shucks, he'd just love to make some ginger-haired friends.

As he sat in his room pouting and thinking of more Weasley insults, the noise from the kitchen grew steadily louder.

Draco heard Hermione's exhausted and angry pot-banging in the kitchen and for a moment, considered helping her. He thought better of it, however, and decided to stay in his room. Soon, the sounds of an angry knife chopping onions made their way to his room. He had just picked up a book when a small scream and a loud crash from the kitchen caught his attention. Before he could rethink his decision, he ran out to the kitchen.

He found Hermione on the floor of the kitchen, surrounded by chopped onions, garlic, and tomatoes, the cutting board a foot away from her knee, where it had fallen. She sat rocking back and forth, clutching her thumb and muttering obscenities.

"Granger, please. You are a witch, surely this isn't a big deal." That was the second time today she had forgotten her ability with a wand. Realizing this only increased her frustration. She angrily pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her wand from the counter. Continuing to mutter obscenities, she paused only to mutter a quick healing spell and set the kitchen to rights with a wave of her wand.

"Ok, executive decision," Draco began, "You – couch. Now. No arguing!" He steered her toward the couch and sat her down. He went back to the kitchen and continued with what Hermione had begun. Hermione wanted to protest, but she was just so tired… and the couch was so comfy… and whatever he was making smelled _heavenly_.

Although Draco would never admit it, he enjoyed cooking. He knew it was considered servants' work (or house-elves', in his case), but to him it was reminiscent of potions. He loved figuring out which proportions and quantities to add to sauces and how to make each ingredient yield its boldest flavor. Ever since he was young, he had snuck down to the manor's enormous kitchens – without his parents' knowledge, of course. The house elves had been skeptical at first, but when they saw his true passion, they were only too happy to provide him with ingredients and room to experiment.

Hermione had planned to make a simple pasta dish with a sauce made of garlic, tomatoes, and onions. He continued with her basic agenda, but set to work adding different flavor profiles and textures to the sauce.

When he finished, he brought Hermione a dish and joined her on the couch. They ate in silence, both tired and satisfied with their plate of food.

When Hermione had cleaned her entire plate (and seriously considered licking the bottom), she set it on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch.

"Draco that was _perfect_. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that."

Draco was instantly caught off guard. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard words of gratitude, because he… well, because he never did anything for anyone else. Before letting Hermione see his reaction, he scooped up their plates and headed to the sink.

He had never washed dishes before, but it couldn't be that hard. He had watched the house elves and Granger do it plenty of times. He fiddled with the taps until the water was just right and found the bottle of soap Hermione used. As he cleaned the dishes, he found himself enjoying the process. He had spent so much of his life being taught to destroy, to ruin, to make things messy – it actually felt nice to make things clean. When he was done, he dried the dishes with care and set them gently back in the cupboard.

Cleaning the dishes had felt so fulfilling that suddenly Draco couldn't stop. He picked up a sponge and set to work on the counters. Then he realized that the floor was rather messy after Hermione's spill and reached for a broom.

After Draco had been gone for about ten minutes, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her and she headed out to the kitchen. She couldn't believe what she saw: Draco Malfoy, _cleaning. CLEANING! _Cleaning her kitchen!

"Draco… you didn't have to do all of this," she began.

"Yeah well, maybe I just don't want to live in this dirt hole," he retorted with a scowl. He wasn't sure why he responded so angrily. Her house wasn't really dirty at all, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her just how much he had enjoyed cleaning her kitchen. When Hermione had been out in the living room, he had carefully set the broom back in the cupboard, but now that she was watching, he threw the mop back haphazardly, pretending like he didn't care.

Hermione wasn't at all sure what to make of what she saw. She could tell that he was covering up for something, but didn't know him well enough yet to know what. Still, cleaning her kitchen for her had been an act of kindness, which was a big step (and finally something she could record in her progress journal!), so she decided to try to initiate some fun.

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Three hours and nearly an entire bottle of firewhiskey later found Hermione and Draco giggling on the couches in the living room, shouting "A! Final Answer!" and "Ask the audience! Ask the audience!" at the television.

After the best shows were over and the paid advertisements had come on, they turned off the television and introduced a new activity.

"Ok Graaaaanger," Draco slurred, "Here's the game. It's like Millionaire but BETTER!" He shouted the last word, drunkenly trying to emphasize his excitement.

"I ask you questions and you have to answer them and then you do that to me and I have to answer them," he hurriedly explained, tripping over the last words. "And you get lifelines! We have to have lifelines. Ok… we'll keep phone-a-friend. We can't very well have an ask-the-audience because," here he started to giggle loudly, "there is no audience!"

At this, Hermione started to giggle too, and poured a bit more firewhiskey in her glass.

"I know!" she shouted, "Instead of ask-the-audience, we'll add a tell-a-lie option! One of your answers can be a lie. But only one! Otherwise I'll knooooow." There was, of course, no way to tell how many times Draco lied, but he drunkenly assented and she drunkenly believed him.

Somehow, rules mattered more when intoxicated.

"And instead of 50-50," continued Draco, "we'll add a new question option, so you can drop one. Ok, so here we go. We each ask questions and then we answer them and we have a phone-a-friend, a tell-a-lie and a drop-a-question." He said all of this very fast, but Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"We'll do rock-paper-scissors to see who goes first," Draco proposed. Hermione continued to nod.

After three tries of rock-paper-scissors, during which neither cast a legitimate gesture, they decided to give up and just let Draco go first.

"Do you find me," he cocked an eyebrow, "attractive?"

Well, it looked like she'd be using that lie right off the bat.

"Hell no, Malfoy, I'm not _that_ drunk. Ok, my turn. If you had to make out with any professor at Hogwarts, who would it be?"

Malfoy wrinkled his nose and thought about it. "Well, I think we can safely rule out Flitwick and Slughorn. Oh and Sprout. And Grubbly-plank! And I don't even want to consider McGonagall. Hmmm… I bet Trelawney has a frisky side, I'll take her."

Hermione made gagging sounds that quickly dissolved into giggles.

"Ok Granger. Who do yoooou want to make out with?"

That was an easy one. Before he even finished the question she shouted "Oliver Wood!"

"Oliver Wood Oliver Wood Oliver Wood!"

She set down her drink and stood on her couch and screamed again "Oliver Wood Oliver Wood Oliver Wood!" When she looked over at Draco, she found him laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

"That nose-whistling, stuck up, prat of a keeper? Oh Granger, you sure know how to pick 'em."

Now Hermione needed to come up with another question. Her eyes caught his arm and before she could think twice, she asked "Did that hurt? When you got your Mark, I mean."

Draco got quiet for a moment, holding his glass with both hands and looking intently at the amber liquid it contained. Then he looked up at her and, staring at her intently, responded "Like a bitch."

His next question caught her off guard. "Are you a good kisser?"

"Well, for that, I guess I better phone a friend!" Hermione giggled and reached for her cell phone.

"Who are you calling? Krum's a little long-distance, don't you think?"

"Nooooo…. I'm calling Ron! We kissed once!" Hermione's gagging at Draco's Trelawney comment couldn't even come close to the faces he was making now.

Hermione returned to her excited perch standing on the couch, bouncing slightly.

"Ron! You're there!... Yes, I know it's late but I need you to tell Draco if I'm a good kisser or not….. No he's not asking because he's interested, he's asking because it's a game!... Here, I'll put you on speakerphone."

She fumbled with the buttons for a moment, but eventually Ron's tired and angry voice filled her living room.

"This is ridiculous, Hermione! I want to go to bed! I thought I only had this mobile thing for emergencies!"

"Ok you're on speaker! Now tell him!"

"But Her-"

"Tell him!"

"Fine! You're a good kisser, ok? Can I go to bed now? This is ridiculous. Maybe you should be in bed too!"

Normally she'd get angry at Ron for lecturing her, but she was too drunk and proud of her kissing abilities. She hung up on Ron before even responding and started to jump in circles on the couch singing "He said I'm a good kisser! He said I'm a good kisser! He said I'm a"

Before she could get to "good," she spun slightly too enthusiastically and with a shout, found herself crumpled on the floor. Draco hurried over, but was laughing too hard to offer any real assistance.

Alcohol numbs all pain, and although Hermione was sure she'd be feeling it tomorrow, she couldn't stop giggling.

"Maybe Ron's right. We do need to get to bed."

They sat on the floor in silence for a moment, before picking themselves up and retreating to their separate rooms for the night. They didn't say "goodnight," which Hermione found odd once she had shut her door. She walked back out to the living room to tell him goodnight, but then thought twice about it and stumbled back to her room.

As soon as she had closed her door, Draco returned to the living room. He wasn't sure why he had come back, but he felt like he should have said _something _to her. The evening had been so nice – so peaceful. It was one of the most enjoyable he had ever spent. Standing in her living room now, though, staring at her bedroom door, he decided he should just leave it at that.

So he headed back to his room and closed his door. "Goodnight, Hermione," he said quietly. Across the apartment, at the same moment, Hermione said thoughtfully "Goodnight Dra-"

Then she ran to her trash can to vomit. Damn firewhiskey.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

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A/N: JKR owns the entire Harry Potter universe and is probably the only person who deserves it. I'll be away for a bit at the end of this week, but I should have the next chapter posted early next week! Happy reading!

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Hermione Granger was never a fan of her alarm clock, but she eyed it with a particularly nasty scowl Tuesday morning. Her pounding head quickly reminded her just how much firewhiskey she had consumed the night before.

She stumbled to the bathroom and, steadying herself against the sink, dared to sneak a glance at her reflection in the mirror. What she saw made her jump a bit. Deciding not to linger on the image, she locked the door and started the shower.

The shower made her feel a bit better, but she still trudged into the kitchen for breakfast looking very hung over.

What could have possibly made this day worse? Draco, sitting at her breakfast bar and smiling as if he hadn't touched a drop of whiskey the night before. And why the hell was it so bright in here?

"Morning, Granger! Isn't the bright sun so lovely this morning? I opened all of the curtains and blinds just for you."

She grunted her displeasure and quickly shut them, before reaching for her largest coffee mug and filling it to the brim.

"What's wrong, Granger? Feeling a bit… under the weather?"

"For Godric's sake, Malfoy, stop shouting." She set down the mug and held her pounding head in her hands.

"Oh, sorry. WHAT'S WRONG GRANGER?"

At this point, she reached for her wand and he ran for his room, narrowly escaping a stinging hex. She grumbled at the mug he had left on the counter and angrily threw it into the sink, where it immediately shattered, making the most loud and awful noise. Hermione took a deep breath, cast a quick "Reparo," and gave up on breakfast. She wouldn't be able to keep anything down anyway.

She felt slightly better by the time she flooed to work twenty minutes later, but not nearly well enough to confront the pile of paperwork she had left on her desk the day before.

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The rest of the week passed by surprisingly peacefully. After connecting during their night of intoxication, Draco and Hermione seemed to have formed a strange sort of friendship. He wasn't a changed man, to be sure, but his sneer had lessened a bit.

The biggest surprise of all had to be Draco's newfound ownership of the kitchen. Since their pasta night, he wouldn't even allow Hermione near his "perfectly shiny" stove or his "absolutely spotless" sink. Hermione wasn't complaining, but she did wish she could pour herself a glass of water without him angrily clearing his throat.

Saturday evening found them both at home, enjoying a quiet night in. Hermione sat curled in her favorite chair reading a newly-published collection of short stories while Draco enjoyed his newest obsession: the daily crossword puzzle.

Hermione had explained how they worked and while he quickly understood the concept, he got frustrated when he couldn't figure out the clues, so his new game was to just insert his own words and make them fit. Apparently a five letter word for "dwelling a family lives in" was "fudge." Hermione had protested at first, but eventually just gave in and let him do it his own way. At least it kept him quiet.

Hermione decided to take advantage of the peace to bring up a subject that she knew could sour the good mood Draco had been in all week. She cleared her throat and crossed her fingers.

"So tomorrow morning I'm heading to brunch at the Burrow…" she paused to gauge his reaction. She couldn't read his poker face though. "… and if you've changed your mind from last week, I'm sure Molly would love to have you." She braced herself for his reaction.

Draco went back to his crossword and after a few seconds, Hermione gave up and turned back to her book. So much for that, she thought to herself. About 15 seconds passed before Hermione heard Draco clear his throat.

"Sounds good."

She struggled to hide her smile.

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This trip to the Burrow went far better than the last one. The boys still treated Draco like an outsider, but all of that changed as soon as the brooms came out. The weather had cleared this week and Quidditch became top priority. Hermione had cleared this one small magic allowance with the Minister, provided that wards were put in place to keep Draco from flying away from the Burrow, which both the Weasleys and Draco readily agreed to. With another trained seeker on the pitch, the Weasleys were excited for a competitive game. Since Harry and Draco were the only two seekers, they were named team captains.

Harry immediately picked Ron, leaving Ginny rolling her eyes. Those two were hopeless. To keep things interesting, Draco picked up Little Red himself. He wondered how Ginny would react to joining his team – would she refuse? Would she protest? Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what actually happened. Ginny shouldered her broom and walked confidently to stand next to him, before turning to smirk at her boyfriend.

"It looks like we have _one_ intelligent seeker in this yard," she said loudly.

Harry mouthed a quick apology before choosing George. Draco took Bill. Now all that was left was Fleur and Percy. Harry took Fleur and everyone on Draco's side rolled their eyes. No one wanted to be stuck with Percy.

Because they were short-handed, they played a different variation of Quidditch. Each team had a seeker, two chasers, and a keeper. They had stopped playing with beaters and bludgers after Fred's death, because it always put George in a sullen mood.

As usual, Hermione refused to play. She had long ago become the designated score-keeper. She didn't mind as long as her feet remained on the ground.

By the time Molly called them to the table, each team had won a quick game and they were neck-and-neck in a match that had lasted five times longer than either of the previous two, mainly because the snitch had yet to make an appearance. They landed their brooms and Percy uttered the spell that ended the game and retrieved the snitch, which, as it turns out, had been resting at the top of a nearby tree for the bulk of the previous game. Draco and Harry shared a frustrated look only a seeker could understand.

The game had gone similarly to many in the past. Percy played abysmally; he couldn't catch a quaffle to save his life. Ron, in spite of years of improvement, still couldn't match the keeper performance he had achieved when he falsely believed he had been given liquid luck. Fleur was competitive, but as soon as she broke a nail, she stopped throwing herself into the game.

The biggest surprise of the morning was the fast friendship that formed between Draco and Ginny. She had taken his label of "Little Red" as a friendly nickname, rather than the teasing label he had intended. Draco found himself appreciating her talent and her willingness to get cutthroat with her boyfriend. As the group made their way into the house, Hermione looked over her shoulder to find Draco and Ginny intently discussing a formation they had recently read about in _Quidditch Weekly_. She smiled to herself. Her plan rocked.

As the others sat down for brunch, Harry pulled Hermione aside for a quick word.

"It looks like your plan is actually sort of working! He seems far less of a prat than normal. I mean, still definitely a prat, but _less_ of one."

"Well I doubt I can take credit for that – I think he just enjoys quidditch and being out of my apartment."

"Still, he seems happy and… contented to the situation. At least he isn't protesting his year of imprisonment."

"Well that's just it, isn't it. He thinks that's all this is – just a year of house arrest, after which he'll be set free with zero consequences. He doesn't know that he'll have to face some sort of test at the end of this." She paused, worry filling her face. "Oh, Harry, I don't know what we're going to do. I just know they're going to submit him to some sort of test and what if he doesn't pass? We don't even know what it will be and, if Michael has his way, it will probably be something Malfoy is doomed to fail."

"Well we'll worry about that when it comes. For now, we just have to make sure that he doesn't find out the true purposes or functions of this 'rehabilitation' program."

Hermione nodded her agreement and the two of them rejoined the rest of the group.

After a filling meal of a ridiculous plethora of breakfast foods, Draco and Hermione helped clean up. Molly practically squealed with delight when Draco volunteered to wash the dishes. Hermione had to drag him away from the cleaning products before he scrubbed down the whole Burrow.

The group was so excited to have another talented seeker that they played Quidditch all afternoon. Hermione quickly grew bored and transfigured a log into a scoreboard so she could read instead. She honestly didn't know how that could occupy them all day.

When the sun began to set, the two teams finally decided to call it a day. They had stopped keeping score at some point, just happy to enjoy the pace of the game.

As they prepared to leave, Hermione gave everyone hugs. She noted with pleasure Harry and Ron shaking Draco's hand and planning their next Quidditch match.

They apparated back to Hermione's flat and the mood was instantly different than it had been the previous week. They poured themselves drinks (though much weaker than their last excursion) and retreated to the patio.

Hermione couldn't help but remember sitting on this porch by herself the week before. She had decided to try to get Draco to open up and she thought she had made good progress this week. She wondered if she could get him to have a real discussion with her, but before she had time to strategize, he surprised her and took the first step.

"So how is it that a girl who will stare down Bellatrix Lestrange and take on wizards twice her age, not to mention a witch that will punch _me_ square in the face is still afraid to fly?"

Not quite the emotional, gut-wrenching conversation topic Hermione was hoping for, but she was starting to learn that sometimes life couldn't be perfectly scripted.

"I can combat force with force. I know virtually every defensive _and_ offensive spell invented and, believe me, I'm also well practiced. I can think quickly on my feet and can predict my opponent's next move. I cannot, however, defeat gravity." She paused for a moment. "I think that's what I fear most – the loss of control. When I go, I want to go down fighting."

"I'll keep that in mind," he smirked.

They sat in thoughtful contemplation, watching the bright colors left by the setting sun.

"So this is your life, Granger? You just get to work hard and enjoy the fruits of your labor? You get to spend casual time with friends and family?"

"Geez, Malfoy, try to make it sound more miserable."

Draco scoffed. "You don't know the first think about miserable."

"From what I saw during my time at Hogwarts, you were hardly miserable, Malfoy. You had everything you could ever want when you wanted it. You got away with practically everything and never had to worry about being held accountable for your actions. Excuse me if I break up the pity party here." Their formerly companionable rapport had suddenly turned tense.

"This coming from Dumbledore's little lapdog. You don't know what you're talking about Granger. Did you usually go home for Christmas?"

"Most years, though I stayed at Hogwarts once or twice."

"I used to make up excuses to stay at Hogwarts. I'd _forget_ an important essay for Charms, purposely get detention over the holidays – anything to stay away from the Manor. Because you know what I found when I came home? A giant Christmas tree, mountains of presents, and deranged relatives desperately convincing me to hate. Convincing me to discriminate, to blame, and to separate myself. Even convincing me to murder."

Hermione wanted to sympathize with him, but couldn't hold down the anger she had felt for years. It was still hard for her to forget how terrible he had been for most of their childhood.

"_Convincing_ you? How much _convincing_ did it take? I seem to remember you berating me from the first time you ever met me. 'Mudblood,' 'nerd,' 'ugly,' 'mousy' – do you think I don't remember? I remember everything. You think you've had it so hard, but you don't even realize what you've inflicted on others."

"Oh, I don't realize it? I don't see it every day?"

"Clearly it means nothing to you, because all you care about is yourself."

"Oh, so I'm selfish now?" Their voices began to rise.

"Pfft! Of course! Selfish and awful and mean and spiteful!"

"Then how come I'm here? If you resent me, if you hate me, _like you should_, why am I here? I was terrible to you, I was _never_ nice to you, hell, I never for a second stopped hating you. Why not just let me rot in Azkaban? Why don't you hate me as much as I hated… as much as I _hate_ you?" He shouted the last words at her, pushing her temper to its breaking point.

Hermione stood up to go back inside, clearly trying to control her rage, but paused at the door.

"Because my parents taught me to forgive."

Draco lingered on the patio for a while. He knew he shouldn't have ruffled her feathers like that, but old habits die hard. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was glad that Hermione hadn't confirmed that she hated him. He didn't really hate her, but he felt like he needed to. He was cut off from his friends and his family – from his culture, and clinging to hating Hermione felt safe.

Today with the Weasleys had felt nice… too nice. He couldn't stoop to their level – couldn't weaken his resolve. He would get through this awful year and leave these losers behind.

Somehow, though, it was getting harder and harder to cling to that hatred.

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Whereas the previous week Draco hadn't been speaking to Hermione after Sunday brunch, this week it was the other way around. Hermione ignored his owls while at work and went immediately to her room when she returned home. Instead of eating the meals he cooked, she went out each evening, secretly smug about her ability to come and go as she pleased while Draco was stuck in her apartment.

At first he didn't mind, but when you only have one human contact, you quickly notice its absence. By Wednesday, Draco knew he had to apologize. He was loathe to do it though. Before he could talk himself out of it, he heard Hermione fumbling with the door knob and immediately moved to block the path to her room.

When she entered the apartment, Draco pounced.

"Ok, Granger, let's have this out." Ok, so that wasn't exactly the apology he had planned to deliver.

"Draco, I'm tired. I don't really want to listen to you telling me exactly why you hate me again."

"Granger I…" he screwed up his eyes. This was going to be harder than he thought. "It's just that those things that I said, while totally and completely true, were not…. Totally and completely true." He looked at his feet, but then into her eyes. "I don't hate you. I'll admit that I didn't take much convincing back then – and I probably wouldn't now, if I'm being completely honest, but you've proven a much better person than me and in spite of everything about you that drives me utterly insane, I don't hate you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm pretty sure somewhere in the middle of that insult-filled rant there was some semblance of an apology. Cook me dinner and I'll forgive you."

Draco smirked. "It's already on the table."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

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A/N: Here's the next chapter! It's a little short, but I think it has some funny moments. I have a few more chapters drafted and am working on the rest. I'm imagining this ending up around 20 chapters long, but we'll see. As always, JKR owns everything ever all the time always. Read and enjoy! Look for the next chapter later this week.

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As the weeks passed, Draco and Hermione established a somewhat functional rapport. They still fought frequently and Draco went to bed more than once with the lingering pain of a stinging hex, but more and more they found themselves getting along. They found that the same things made them laugh. Hermione was surprised by how much they had in common. Sunday visits to the Weasleys had become routine and Draco looked forward to his weekly Quidditch games. He always chose Ginny first and the two were quickly becoming an unstoppable team.

Over time, however, Hermione sensed Draco becoming… bored. At first, the signs were subtle. One day, he reorganized her entire book collection by size. Then, the next day, he arranged them alphabetically by the second word in the title. THEN he arranged them by color of binding. Hermione couldn't find anything anymore.

On a Tuesday in May, roughly two months after Draco had moved in with her, she stood outside her door twisting her key in the lock and wondering how her precious books would be organized that day. She found them in the same order as the day before (by Draco's opinion of "most interesting" to "least interesting," with _Hogwarts: A History_ at the latter end) and looked suspiciously at Draco, who was perched on her couch, concentrating on something he was writing.

"Granger!" He looked up suddenly, "So glad you're here! You'll never guess what I've done."

At this, Hermione got worried and began to look frantically around her apartment.

"No, it's here! Right here! I've started my memoirs. People will want to read about what I'm suffering. I'm calling it _House Arrest Hell: My Year in Hermione's Hovel_. It took me a while to think up that alliteration. I wanted something to go with Granger but couldn't think of anything. Let me know if you think of a synonym for jail, punishment, imprisonment, or Hell that begins with G."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Wait, what's that you're writing in?"

"Oh, I found this old notebook you had lying around, so I just appropriated it."

"You mean my good, $30 moleskin notebook?!"

"Yeah. Only $30. So anyway, ready to hear the first entry?"

Hermione sensed that she had little choice in the matter, and collapsed resignedly into her comfy chair. "Fire away, Malfoy."

Draco began to read, obviously proud of what he had written. He stood and began to read dramatically, including vivid hand gestures.

"My personal Hell began on March 24. I thought nothing could be worse than the prison I was housed in, but I would soon learn that I was wrong."

Hermione bit her tongue, trying not to scream at him.

"As soon as the tyrant Hermione Granger entered the room, I knew I was doomed. Her frizzy hair and dumpy clothing were matched only by her negative attitude and bossy personality. From the moment our eyes met, I knew I would have to comply with her every whim, for I, Draco Malfoy, was her helpless prisoner."

At this, Hermione rolled her eyes again, but Draco continued nonetheless.

"She did not even bother to welcome me to her home, but jumped immediately into bossing me around and even using hexes to enforce her will. She imposed a tyrannical code of laws upon me and gave me no say in my own life."

Hermione began to protest, but Draco just talked even louder.

"I cooked for her every night and even cleaned up after her."

"That was your own choice! I am perfectly capable of cooking for myself!"

"Oh, don't worry Granger, I plan to devote an entire chapter to the results of your culinary endeavors. I call it 'Persisting Through the Poison.'"

Hermione grumbled her way to the kitchen and without even thinking about it, served herself a dish of Draco's most recent concoction.

As she settled herself back into her chair, she heard Draco mumbling as he wrote.

"ignored my attempts at creativity… stifled my imaginative impulses… exploited my domestic generosity…"

If his food hadn't been so good, she would have hexed him into oblivion.

.

.

By the end of the week, Draco had abandoned his memoirs. The pages of her expensive notebook lay crumpled around the trash can he seemed to purposely avoid. He claimed he would turn his experiences into a movie instead, suggesting handsome, young actors to play the role of the hero and old, frumpy hags to play the part of Hermione. His suggestions were met with angry muttering from Hermione, who was trying (for at least the tenth time) to put her books back in the proper order.

When Hermione arrived home on Friday, she realized that Draco's boredom had reached dangerous levels. She opened the door to find all of her books turned upside down on the shelves… then noticed that the shelves themselves were upside down. As was the couch, chair, and all other furniture not bolted to the floor. Draco lay on the floor of the living room, face down as if he were dead.

Hermione didn't even check. She kicked him in the hip.

"Geez Granger, you don't even care if I live or die!"

"Well you could have had me going if you had held it a little longer."

"I would have, but Wheel of Fortune starts in 30 seconds and, frankly, you're not worth it."

At this, he plopped himself into his favorite spot on the sofa (after Hermione had magically righted her apartment) and turned on the television.

Hermione fetched herself supper and settled down just as the first puzzle popped up. The category was before and after. Draco looked a moment at the twenty or so blank boxes and immediately guessed the phrase. "Home Sweet Home on the Range," he said with a bored tone of voice.

"Draco, how did you know that? There are no letters up yet! Is this a repeat?"

She looked at the guide – no, it was a new episode.

She watched mesmerized as Draco guessed every puzzle before any letters were put up. When the bonus round category was "thing" and he guessed "umbrella" correctly without any letters, she realized that Draco's boredom had reached an unhealthy level. She had to do something about it, and soon, if she ever hoped to find any of her books again.

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The following Monday found Hermione sitting at her desk going over transcripts of interviews with Death Eaters claiming to have been acting under the imperius curse. She was so distracted that she missed the noise of Oliver's footsteps heading toward her office.

He knocked on her doorframe and the noise caused her to jump and make a fairly unattractive squeaking noise.

"Hi Hermione, oh sorry I scared you!"

"You didn't scare me Oliver! Don't be silly! It's just the doorframe and you just knocked on it and I was just reading this transcript and was so distracted but then you knocked and I…" She was rambling again. With an embarrassed smile, she stopped her rant, took a deep breath, and asked "How can I help you, Oliver?"

Oliver returned her smile. "I'm going away for the week with Natalia. Would you mind watering my plants again? You did such a great job last time."

Natalia. So _that_ was still going on. Hermione was convinced that had ended ages ago.

"Of course, Oliver, I'd be happy to. Have fun with Natalie."

"Natalia."

"Oh, yes, right. _Natalia_."

Oliver gave her another smile and walked back to his office.

Hermione continued to mutter "Natalia" over and over, in various tones and accents, as she got back into the transcripts.

That's how Dean Thomas found her – angrily flipping through pages and saying "Natalia" in a German accent. And was that Australian? He interrupted her before she could say any more.

"Hi, Hermione."

Hermione looked up quickly and flashed Dean a smile that worried him a bit. Perhaps babysitting Malfoy had pushed her a little too close to the edge.

"Hi Dean! So great to see you! How are you? I'm just peachy! Just peachy keen! So! So! Happy!" She punctuated her last words by angrily shoving all of her papers into a folder and slamming it in her desk drawer.

"I'm doing well too…" he said slowly. "Anyway, I dropped by to see if you could help me with a small favor. We are slammed in the Potions Department ever since Seamus blew up the entire West Wing. Orders are pouring in to replenish not only the hospital supply, but also the veritaserum the aurors are using, as well as some more unusual brews. We need someone with experience and skill."

"Speaking of which, how did Seamus land that job anyway?"

"Don't ask. His aunt knew the head of the department or something."

"Well, I'm not sure if I know anyone who's looking… Ron is training for Quidditch and Harry is practically obsessed with auror training."

"Well if you think of anyone, let me know."

Dean had barely left her office when she called him back.

"Wait, Dean, I have a suggestion, but it's a little… unusual. You're going to have to trust me."

.

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Before she even opened the door to her apartment, she guessed Draco's latest project. The smell of baked goods filled the hallway. She walked into an apartment filled with his concoctions – the coffee table was covered with cupcakes, 3 different puddings sat in bowls on the couch, a dozen pies were cooling in the kitchen, and was he making tiramisu?

"Draco, what the HELL is going on?"

"Quiet Granger!" He raced to the oven. "There goes the soufflé," he said with a sigh.

Hermione pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to numb the headache that had just begun.

"Draco, you were good at Potions, weren't you?"

"The best!"

"Well, you mean _second best_."

Draco gave her a meaningful look. "The BEST," he countered again.

"Whatever. Anyway, I got you a job in the Potions Department at the ministry. You get to keep the money you earn, but you have to behave there as well as you… well as well as you _are supposed _to behave here."

She could tell the news excited Draco, but he quickly covered it up with feigned umbrage.

"Oh, so now I have to work?! Wait until you see this scene in the movie!"

Draco stormed away, and Hermione got out a plate and cut herself a slice of boysenberry pie. All in all, this was probably her favorite of his bored activities.

.

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Hermione dragged herself out of bed the next day at 6:30 and stumbled into the kitchen for her coffee. She found Draco sitting on her couch, fully dressed and ready to go, with his bag packed and his coat on.

"Ready?"

She glared daggers at him and didn't bother to respond.

When they flooed to the Ministry an hour later, Hermione dropped Draco off in the Potions Department and headed to her office. She had started to go over her rules with him again, but Draco pointedly reminded her that he was not, in fact, seven years old.

She couldn't help being a bit worried all day, but things went surprisingly smoothly. Dean stopped by halfway through the day to tell her Draco was doing great work. He got straight to work and didn't talk to anyone, but had already doubled his quota for the day.

As Hermione patted herself on the back after Dean had left, she began to consider the long-term implications of this new arrangement. There was a chance that this could help Draco's case – working at the Ministry had to count for something, right?

Kingsley had decided Draco would appear before the Wizengamot at the end of the year and plead his case. She knew the odds were stacked against him. Not surprisingly, Michael Corner was thrilled with Kingsley's decision.

The separation from Corner was probably the best consequence of Draco coming to live with her. He had redoubled his efforts to prove the benefits of obiliviation, and was currently working on a report that he swore would leave her plan in the dust.

A lot was riding on this trial, and she couldn't help worrying about it. Things were going better than she expected, but she doubted that she could convince a panel of judges that he wasn't a threat to society based solely on his culinary skills.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

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A/N: Hi there! This chapter is a big one - I'm interested to hear what you think about it! It's not as funny as the last one, but I promise more humor is coming. I just also wanted to say that I've been writing this story for a while now but never had the guts to post it - and now I'm so glad that I did! Thank you to all who have reviewed - it makes me smile and keeps me writing! Updates might slow down a bit (I'm running out of already-written-chapters), but my goal is to definitely keep posting at least one chapter per week. Oh, and I still don't own anything Harry-Potter-related. Obvs.

Enjoy!

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As Hermione and Draco headed to the elevators after his first day at the Ministry, she found him more at ease than he had been in weeks. Clearly having something to do had calmed him down. They were just walking past the fountain, chatting about Draco's latest assignment when they heard it – the one thing that could burst the small bubble of happiness she had worked so hard to create.

"Death Eater! I see they're letting just about anyone in here now!" Hermione looked over her shoulder but couldn't make out who had shouted the jeer. Draco kept walking forward, eyes on the fireplaces.

"You should be locked up! Or worse!" Another voice had joined the first.

"Unforgivable curses aren't even painful enough for what you deserve, scum!" As more voices joined the throng, Hermione sped to catch up with Draco, who had quickened his pace. They reached the fireplaces and flooed to Hermione's apartment.

Hermione braced herself for some sort of explosion. Instead, Draco walked out to the terrace and sat down. Hermione opened the door to join him, but he put up his hand to stop her.

"Granger, don't. I'm not trying to be mean, but just stop. Not tonight."

She turned to leave, accepting that he needed solitude, but a quiet question, spoken almost in a whisper, stopped her.

"I should have known this would happen. It's what I deserve, isn't it?"

The question gave her pause. Her first instinct was to comfort him – to tell him that everyone deserved a second chance. But then she thought harder. Had she not spent the past two months with him, had they not enjoyed a few moments of peace and even of fun, would she have defended him? Or would she have joined the throng in condemning him?

And if she would have chosen the latter, did that make it right?

In her heart, she knew the true answer. She turned to the boy whom she had hated more than almost anyone for the last seven years and responded "No. You don't deserve any of it. The world we fought to protect is one in which everyone is accorded respect and an equal opportunity… regardless of the circumstances of their birth. It's what I fought for and what I'm still fighting for."

Draco didn't turn around, but he nodded slightly, letting her know he had heard her. She retreated to the kitchen, grabbed some leftovers from the fridge, and headed to her room for the night. When she went to bed, she felt more at peace than she had in years.

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Draco's first few weeks at the Ministry went smoothly. Hermione asked Kingsley to establish a special floo next to the Potions Lab so they could travel straight there. Draco enjoyed the work. It was challenging, but also rewarding – and not just financially.

Today, Draco stood next to his bubbling cauldron, peering into the murky depths and letting his thoughts wander. Sometimes he liked to picture how different his life would have been had Voldemort won the war. He was sure he would have occupied a position of power and prominence. He could have had anything he wanted – any house, any job, any woman, any friends…

Draco used to fantasize about what could have been, especially in that first miserable month at Granger's hovel. But lately, his vision had become just like his potion… murky. His dreams of mansions, fine clothes, and endless luxuries were increasingly accompanied by what being a follower of Voldemort would have entailed.

He knew now that he would have had to torture and kill his classmates and possibly former friends. It was extremely likely that rather than Hermione sending stinging hexes at him whenever he swore, he would have been forced to kill her for nothing at all. Just for existing.

What scared him most of all was that he wasn't sure how much forcing Voldemort would have had to do. A few months ago, he would have barely flinched at the command to send an avada towards the bushy-haired bookworm.

When he was sick of envisioning what could have been, Draco also liked to imagine what could still be. The dark lord had risen from supposed death once before, and although everyone was positive he was gone for good, growing up in a house filled with paranoia and longing had taught Draco to never say never when it came to Voldemort.

What would he do if Voldemort returned?

Would he rejoin him? Or would he stick with his new friends?

Did he just say (well, in his head anyway) _friends?_

Draco shook his head to try to forget even considering the term when the door to the Potions Lab opened. His daydreaming had left no damaging effect on his work because the potion he was working on needed to simmer for ten minutes without being touched.

Dean Thomas walked in escorting someone Draco had never expected to see there: Harry Potter.

"Morning, Potter. Did Granger send you here to keep tabs on me? I guess those eyes in the back of her bushy little head can't reach as far as she wishes," Draco sneered. Sure, they had enjoyed a few Quidditch matches and were on better terms, but old hostilities still lived between the two of them and, without Hermione around to play peacemaker, they quickly resumed their ancient animosity.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Malfoy. Unfortunately, as part of my auror training, I have to intern here for six weeks."

"Which means," interjected Dean with an amused smile on his face, " that you two are now lab partners."

Draco and Harry lowered their eyes at each other on either side of the simmering potion.

.

.

When Dean went to check on them a few hours later, he could barely keep from laughing.

"Out of the way, Malfoy!" Harry shouted as he elbowed Draco in the ribs.

"You have the entire counter to chop your stupid bat wings, but I have to _stir_, which means I have to stand _right here_." He spoke the last few words as if explaining it to a toddler.

"Well if you had cleaned your frog intestines from the counter, perhaps I could use it!"

"I'm _stirring!_ I can't stir and clean at the same time!"

"You have two hands, don't you?"

"You have a wand! You could clean it in two seconds!"

"It's the principle of the thing!"

Dean had to cough loudly to catch their attention.

"Before we end up with another Seamus-esque disaster on our hands, let's just get you a second cauldron," he suggested.

"And a second counter!" Draco shouted as Dean left.

"And a new partner!" added Harry.

.

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The two cauldrons only fueled an intense competition between Harry and Draco. Now they raced to finish their potions first and to make them strongest. Dean couldn't complain; the two were meeting their daily quotas before 10:00 am and quickly replenishing inventories across the wizarding world.

Unfortunately, neither man could leave the competition at the Ministry. The rivalry quickly spilled over to the Sunday Quidditch field.

"Harry! You almost knocked me off my broom! We're not even keeping score!" Ginny shouted as Harry sped toward the snitch with no awareness of the obstacles and people in his path.

"Draco! Did you just try to kick Harry off his broom?"

After twenty minutes and several serious near-injuries, Hermione called the match.

.

.

Hermione told Dean the following day that if he didn't give Draco and Harry something to work on _together_, at least one of them was not going to make it out of that laboratory alive.

His new assignment for them fit the bill perfectly. They had thoroughly replenished the basic stocks of healing potions and veritaserum, so now he had something more creative for them to work on.

"I want you two to create an invisibility potion."

"Oh, you mean a liquefied disillusionment charm," Draco asked as he began to gather ingredients.

"No, an actual invisibility potion."

"But that's never been made before!" Harry responded.

"I know. But I have a feeling that if anyone can do it, it's the two of you. So get to work."

The pair responded with more enthusiasm than either Dean or Hermione could have hoped for.

Now, when Hermione returned home, she didn't find the television on or her library reorganized. Instead, she found Draco diligently researching and taking notes (Harry had started escorting Draco home after work to help Hermione out). She couldn't help but find the sight of him diligently studying oddly sexy. The way he flipped through the book pages, how he chewed on the end of his quill, the look on his face when he found something useful… it was enough to make her run quickly to her room to hide the flush on her cheeks.

She was starting to miss his cooking though. Ever since he and Harry had been assigned the project, Draco had abandoned his culinary endeavors for research and brainstorming (although he still found time to complain about everything that _she_ made). Hermione had even started to intentionally burn food, hoping to nudge him back into the kitchen, but to no avail.

It was invisibility potion or bust.

The quest for the perfect potion had also brought Harry and Draco closer together. As partners, rather than rivals, they found that they actually balanced each other out well. It reminded Harry of spending time with Hermione and he could understand better now how the two of them got along.

.

.

The newfound peace came in handy for Draco's birthday celebration.

Draco didn't want to celebrate it. Hermione didn't really want to celebrate it. Ron sure as hell didn't want to celebrate it. Harry and Ginny were also less than enthusiastic. All of these opinions came to naught, however, when someone let it slip to Molly.

She began with a cake. That turned into a meal. _That_ turned into a party.

It ended with Draco bundled in a home-knitted Weasley sweater clutching boxes of leftovers and hand-made gifts in Hermione's living room.

After he deposited the food in the fridge and the gifts in his closet (far in his closet), he turned to Hermione.

"So where's my gift?"

"I thought you didn't want to celebrate your birthday."

"I didn't. But you forced me to. So now I expect a gift."

Truth be told, she had gotten him something. She didn't know how he would take it… she hoped it wasn't too personal. It had really come from the heart. It was something she knew he would love… she just hoped she wasn't overstepping her boundaries.

Hesitantly, she handed him the wrapped package. She held her breath as he tore off the paper.

His eyes displayed more excitement than she'd ever seen.

"All-purpose cleaner! It works on counters and floors and toilets and sinks!" Draco leapt to his feet, turning the bottle over and over in his hands, reading every aspect of the label. He bolted into the kitchen and started spraying it everywhere.

She always was a pro at birthday gifts.

.

.

Harry and Draco usually passed their time in the Potions Lab in comfortable silence or casual conversation. They talked a lot about Quidditch and sometimes gossiped about former Hogwarts students and professors.

There was one question that had lingered in Harry's mind for months, however, and one day, while waiting for their potion to rest for thirty minutes (this was Batch # 26), he decided to take a chance and just ask him. It was the last week of his Potions internship and he figured the time was now or never.

"Hey Draco?"

"Yes, Potter? Could you pass me that packet of unicorn hair?"

Harry passed him the small envelope and hesitated for a minute, watching Draco carefully extract one and add it to the simmering potion. He still thought Draco was a bit of a prat, but couldn't deny his knack for potions.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously." Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's a bit… personal."

"Sorry, Potter, I don't swing that way."

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm serious. This is just something I've been wondering about for a while now." He took a deep breath and steeled himself before continuing. "When we were at Malfoy Manor that day, you know, the day when… well the day when you were asked to recognize us… well anyway, on that day, I know you knew it was me. Especially with Ron and Hermione there. And I could tell by the look in your eyes that you knew it was me."

As he spoke, Draco concentrated on the potion, clearly avoiding eye contact.

"Anyway, why didn't you tell them? Why didn't you summon Voldemort yourself? You could have had the ultimate glory. Hell, you could have handed Voldemort victory on a silver platter."

Draco was silent for a moment, and Harry started to wonder if he shouldn't have brought it up at all.

Harry had just started to apologize for even asking and was about to tell Draco to forget it when Draco cut him off.

"I hate you, Potter." Well, he certainly was jumping right in there. Harry waited for Draco to continue, hoping he had more of an explanation.

"I've hated you since we were 11 years old, and I know you've hated me just as long." Harry hesitated a moment before nodding his agreement.

"I got my kicks at Hogwarts by constantly putting you and your little cohorts down and I never felt an ounce of remorse."

His honesty caught Harry off guard. Draco paused for another moment and began again, choosing his words carefully.

"But I learned that year, that there are two kinds of hate. Hell, there are probably more than two, but there are definitely at least two. I hated you enough to get you in trouble at school, to make fun of your scar, to try to knock you off your broom at Quidditch… but I didn't hate you enough to see you killed. My hatred was a schoolyard hatred. I mean, I know we're not mates or anything… but then again, I guess that's exactly what we are. We're schoolmates. We grew up together. In that moment, when I had to choose between handing you over to Voldemort and trying to somehow get you out of there… I chose you. As it turned out, I just didn't hate you enough. And, when it all came down to it, I hated Voldemort more."

Harry took this in and the two watched their potion bubble for the next twenty minutes without speaking. Every now and then, one of them would stir it or add an ingredient or two, but they worked in silence. A comfortable silence.

.

.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Ministry, Michael Corner sat in an office with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I just don't see how your plan is feasible, Michael. I respect your research and the work you've put in, but I think I want to stick with Hermione's plan for now. It seems to be working somewhat. Draco had been a model citizen."

"He's _acting!_" Michael shouted. "He's only pretending to be reformed because he thinks he just has to undergo a year of house arrest! If he knew the real purposes of the assignment, he would abandon civility altogether and go back to being the scum he was born to be."

"Let's not rush to judge people, Michael," Kingsley stated patiently. "He has proven a valuable asset to our Potions Department. Just now he is working on an invisibility potion and Dean Thomas believes he shows real promise."

Michael dismissed himself from Kinglsey's office with a resigned sigh and a polite nod. When he reached his office, he threw the report he had been working on for a month straight into the trash. He hated that he had to resort to this, but he knew the time had come. The time for _sabotage_.

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"It works! It really works!" screamed Harry excitedly a few days later – the last day of his internship.

"You really can't see me? At all?!" Draco asked, just as excited.

"I'm telling you, that extra ground dragon scale was the perfect addition."

"Clearly! This is brilliant! Is that someone coming? We'll test it – don't tell him I'm here. We'll see if he can detect me at all."

"Ok!" Harry squealed. They knew they were acting like 8 year olds, but after weeks of experimenting, they were incredibly excited for this breakthrough.

Michael Corner strolled into the laboratory. He saw Draco's cloak hanging on the peg and quickly guessed what was going on, especially when Harry's eyes kept darting over to the corner and he kept grinning like a cat with a bird in his mouth.

"Hey, Potter? Have you seen Draco anywhere?" Michael asked.

"No! Do you… see him anywhere?" Subtlety was never Harry's strong point.

"Good, the coast is clear. While I have you here for a second, I wanted to talk to you about the trial."

Harry tried to stop him, but Michael continued all the same.

"I know that Draco has no idea that at the end of this year he'll be facing a trial and that he has no shot in HELL of passing it. And then if… I mean _when_ he loses his trial, he goes straight to Azkaban for life with no chance of parole. And that Hermione has known this whole time and purposely lied to him. I just wanted to check with you that he still doesn't know."

Harry narrowed his eyes in anger. "Well, he does now."

In the corner, Draco felt Harry and Michael's eyes on him as the potion wore off and he regained his corporal form. In the back of his mind, he noted that they needed to improve the potion's staying power… perhaps with some tortoise shell. He was too angry to think too much about that now, however.

Michael feigned surprise at his presence.

"Oh! Draco! I didn't see you there. Well, I guess I should be going." Michael slipped out quickly and headed to his office. When he got there, he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, waiting to hear the fallout.

Draco looked at Harry, betrayal clear in his eyes. Harry quickly sent a patronus to Hermione, letting her know what had happened.

"So this is purgatory? I just get a few months free before I spend the rest of my life in Hell?" Draco shouted.

"Draco, it's not like that. There will be a trial – you still have a shot at this!"

"Are you kidding, Potter?! I'm Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin symbol of hatred and bigotry. The son of _Lucius Malfoy_. I could literally save a bus of orphans from a screaming volcano and would still have no chance of salvation."

Hermione burst into the laboratory.

"Draco, I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. I had to keep it a secret and I'm going to work tirelessly to help you win this trial and I swear-"

Draco cut her off. "Forget it, Granger. I've done everything you've asked. I've been on my best behavior. And I thought that we were… nevermind. I just can't believe you kept this from me. Nothing's changed. Please take me back to my temporary holding cell so I can enjoy my last few months of freedom."

He didn't make eye contact with her as they flooed back to her apartment. Once there, he walked straight into his room and slammed his door.

She flooed back to the Ministry and stormed into Michael's office.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

"Hermione!" he exclaimed with feigned innocence. "I had no idea! He was invisible and I even asked if he was there. I honestly didn't mean to let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh really. You just happened to go to the Potions Lab when you knew they were experimenting with an invisibility potion. You just happened to ask Harry a question you already knew the answer to. You just happened to state all of the terms of the experiment when you knew that Harry already knew them. You're despicable."

Harry walked in with Kingsley and caught Hermione just as she lunged at Michael.

"Hermione, that's enough," Kingsley calmly commanded. "Michael, in light of recent events, you have been reassigned to the Department of Magical Transportation. Hermione will now chair the D E Reintroduction Board on her own."

Hermione was so outrageously angry that she couldn't even enjoy this slight promotion. She did enjoy the look of panic on Michael's face, however.

"This isn't over," she told Michael quietly as she, Harry, and Kingsley went to exit his office.

"Oh, you better believe it isn't," he responded snidely. Hermione glared at him before returning to her office.

Hermione sat at her desk and held her forehead in her hands. She knew she had to go home and explain the real situation to Draco. She knew that he would be beyond angry. She  
also knew that most of her progress with him had pretty much gone up in smoke at this point.

She would rather face a Hungarian Horntail right now.

And she somehow knew she wasn't getting a homecooked meal tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

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A/N: Sorry for the slight delay - I'm in the middle of a Dissertation Boot Camp and it's sort of making me hate writing (but it is helping me get my dissertation chapter done, so cheers!). Once again, all rights, characters, and everything good in the world belongs to JKR. Thanks so much for reviewing - it makes my day! Next chapter should be up next week. Or this weekend if I get super ambitious/don't want to work on my dissertation.

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Hermione stood in front of the floo at the Ministry, staring at the small green flames. Maybe she could just stay here. She could sleep under her desk and eat at the cafeteria and transfigure a sink into a shower…

She knew she had to go home and confront Draco. Resigned to her fate, she scooped up a handful of floo powder and cursed Michael Corner under her breath. She should have known he would pull something like this.

With a deep breath, she called out her address and stepped into the green flames.

She stepped out and into her apartment fearing the worst. She expected to see her home torn apart, vicious things scribbled on the walls, and a raging Draco storming around. Instead, she found herself in an empty apartment.

She searched for him in the living room, bathroom, his bedroom, and finally found him on the terrace when she walked into the kitchen. He sat on the edge, with his legs through the bars of her railing, his feet dangling in the air. She joined him there and waited for him to shout at her, insult her, command her to leave.

Instead, he raised a glass of firewhiskey to her and invited her to join him.

"I see you found my secret store."

"Oh, Granger. I found this weeks ago. I just didn't think I would need it this soon."

Hermione sat down next to him. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him, but she knew this was a conversation he needed to start. His moments of silence were _killing her_, however.

Right when Hermione was about to burst, Draco finally spoke. "I should have known there was a catch."

Words poured out of Hermione's mouth. "I should have told you. I wanted to tell you but I couldn't – strict orders from the minister. We figured that the only way to tell that a Death Eater had really reformed would be to measure their development candidly. I admit it's a flawed plan-"

"You've got that right!" Draco started to throw his hands in the air, but stopped when his alcohol threatened to spill over its glass.

"But it was this or Azkaban! Or Obliviation! I saved your life Draco. I saved your soul and your memories and your sense of self."

"For a _year!_"

"For at least a year! One of us hasn't given up on this!"

Draco shot her an incredulous look and shook his head.

"Oh come on," he began, "be reasonable. I haven't got a shot in hell at passing this trial." Draco took another gulp of firewhiskey, considered the level in his glass, and poured more from the bottle.

"Not with that attitude."

"Ok, you're a cheerleader now? Come on, Granger. You're smart. We both know my chances."

Hermione was silent for several moments. Finally, she reached out, took Draco's glass of firewhiskey, and downed the rest of it.

"Well here's where we're at Malfoy. You fought with Voldemort. We won. You lost. We get to make the rules now."

Draco began to interject but she cut him off.

"No, Draco, this is my turn to talk. I'm done babying you, done treating you like a lost puppy. Here's the deal. If your side had won, I'd be dead. I'd be worse than dead. You were going to be sent to Azkaban. If it wasn't for me, you and all of your cohorts would be rotting there right now. But I got you a chance at freedom."

"Some chance-"

"Yes, Draco, _some chance_. I know it won't be easy, but it's _something_. It's the best I could do. So here are your options: you can spend the rest of this year wallowing in self pity and spend the rest of your life in Azkaban or you can fight this with me! I'm not sure how, but we have to try."

Draco was silent for several minutes.

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just send me to Azkaban?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to be silent. If she was honest with herself, this was a question she had been wondering about for a long time. Why had she saved her worst enemy? Looking at Draco, she knew she had to try to explain it to him.

"The war… was terrible. And not just in terms of carnage – it changed everything. I guess I just had to believe that there was some good in everyone – that there was some way things could go back to normal – that we could have peace without complete elimination of the opposition."

"You really think I can change, Granger?"

The left corner of her mouth raised in a smirk as she thought back on the last few months: helping in the kitchen, Quidditch-playing with Ginny, working in the Potions lab.

"Don't look now, but I think you already have."

Draco scoffed at that. "Yeah, _okay._"

"Alright, answer me this Draco. If you could trade where you are now for a world where Voldemort ruled, would you?"

Draco already knew the answer to this question, considering he had been thinking about it for months. Years, even.

Now it was his turn to smirk. He turned to face Hermione and, in a rare moment of complete candidness, responded "I'd rather be in Azkaban than in a world commanded by Voldemort."

Hermione smiled. "Well then we just have to prove that you're not a menace."

"Let's go for not evil; I think we both know I'm a menace."

"Agreed." She conjured herself a glass, poured them both more firewhiskey, and raised it in a toast.

"Nine months with the two brightest students Hogwarts has produced in a century. What the Hell can't we do?"

Draco joined her, his grin growing, and the two stared at the street.

As they sipped on their firewhiskey, however, all they were thinking about was how there was no way in Hell this was going to work.

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The next morning, Harry and Ron stood in front of the fireplace at the Burrow.

"Tell me again why I am spending my precious Saturday helping this slimy git?" Ron asked for the fourth time that morning. Without a potions internship forcing him to spend time with Draco, Ron still regarded him as an annoying, insufferable brat. Draco's recent winning streak at their Sunday Quidditch matches had not improved Ron's impression of him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"We've been over this. Hermione has asked us to come over and work on ways to prove to the Wizengamot that Draco is a good person."

"But he's not a good person."

Harry considered this. He couldn't really disagree.

"Well… I wouldn't say he's a saint. But he's also not a war criminal. And he definitely doesn't deserve a lifetime in Azkaban. We've been talking lately and he's… not that bad."

"Oh, so you're his best friend now?" Ron's flair for the dramatics had not dimmed after the war.

"Please be an adult about this. If you can't get over your hatred for him, think of it as a favor for Hermione."

Ron shoved his hands in his pocket and sighed resignedly. Harry took this gesture as an assent and scooped up a handful of floo powder for the two of them.

"Granger's flat!" he shouted.

When Harry and Ron stepped out of Hermione's fireplace, a familiar site greeted them: Hermione, her hair piled in a frizzy bun, chewing on the end of a quill, surrounded by piles of parchment and stacks (and stacks and stacks) of books.

The new addition to the traditional picture, however, was the smug blonde sitting across the table from her. Like Hermione, he was entirely absorbed in his work. He jotted down notes as he flipped through an enormous volume.

After watching them for a moment, Harry realized they had not even noticed his entrance. He coughed to get their attention. Neither looked up.

Ron shuffled his feet a bit, hoping to be noticed.

Once again, neither Hermione nor Draco looked up. Harry and Ron watched as Hermione stopped writing, frustrated with the point of her quill. Without even looking up, Draco handed her another one. They still didn't know Ron or Harry were there.

Harry had to admit – they made an intimidating team. He had never seen anyone so in sync with his best friend. Locking this knowledge away for a later discussion, he started to feel creepy watching the pair.

"Hello? Anyone home?" he called loudly.

Finally Hermione and Draco looked up from their work.

"Oh Harry! You've finally arrived!" Hermione rushed to greet them with her traditional flustered hugs.

"I thought we should have a brainstorming session. Draco and I have spent the morning researching past trials with similar circumstances." Hermione explained. Harry and Ron settled into her living room, claiming comfy spots on the couch and chair.

"The results have been somewhat less than positive." Draco added from the table.

"Yes… apparently there's quite a strong precedent. I always knew that the Dark Arts have been taboo for centuries, but was unaware_ how_ taboo. Of the 4,467 trials for wizards involved in the Dark Arts- "

"4,467 have lost." Draco called.

"We don't know that for sure! We haven't read all 4,467!"

"Yes, Hermione, but each one we _have_ read has resulted in the defendant being hanged or Avada'd or ripped into hundreds of pieces or fed to blast-ended skrewts. In fact, a lifetime in Azkaban makes the Ministry look soft."

"It's not looking good," Hermione acknowledged. She fetched some parchment and her fresh quill from the table and joined Ron and Harry in the living room. After a moment, Draco followed.

"So now we need to come up with ways to… improve Draco's image." Hermione began.

"There aren't enough glamour charms in the wizarding world." Ron snapped.

Draco scowled, but before he could utter a retort, Hermione cut him off.

"That's hardly productive Ron. Now think! We have nine months."

"That's enough time to have a baby," Ron contributed.

"Gooood Weasley." Draco rolled his eyes.

"What about if he did stuff for charity?" Harry proposed. "You know – soup kitchens, clothing drives, picking up trash, feeding the homeless – that sort of thing."

"You honestly think ladling soup is going to convince the Wizengamot that I'm reformed and no longer a danger to society?" Draco spit out angrily.

"It's a _start_," Hermione stated diplomatically. She quickly realized it would be her job to keep the peace. She picked up her quill and added the suggestion to the list.

"We could collect letters of recommendation from higher-ups."

"Good suggestion Ron!" Hermione's tone came out more patronizing than she intended. She flashed him a smile (also probably too patronizing) and eagerly added it to the list.

Ron knew she was being overly encouraging, but couldn't help feeling proud.

Draco snickered.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione continued to smile, although it was growing more and more forced.

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.

An hour later, Hermione's list had grown to include promises of charitable donations after Draco regained his fortune, a rigorous press campaign to emphasize what (if anything) Malfoys had done for the public good in their history, and a public statement explaining his role in the war and apologizing for his wrongs.

She knew it wasn't much, but at least it was a start.

She noticed an even more promising development during the course of their brainstorming session, however. After the first ten minutes or so, the boys had, for the most part, dropped their hostilities and actually become friendly. Now, as she poured them all lemonade in the kitchen, she heard them discussing the latest Quidditch lineup changes.

When she returned to the living room, she quietly sipped on her lemonade and flipped through a book, allowing the boys to keep up their friendly conversation.

After about twenty minutes of intense (and to Hermione, intensely boring) Quidditch talk, the conversation strayed toward their Sunday games and Harry sat up quickly, remembering something.

"Hey, Hermione? I've been meaning to ask you. Ginny's been rather irritated with me lately and I'm not exactly sure why – has she said anything to you?"

"No, Harry, I haven't heard anything." Hermione responded honestly.

"I haven't heard her mention anything either, though I'm not always the best listener," Ron admitted sheepishly.

Hermione unconsciously nodded her assent.

Draco's frustrated "Pfffft" caught them all by surprise.

"Of course she's mad at you Potter!"

"Wait, you know what's going on? How do _you_ know what's going on?"

"Maybe because I have _eyes_. Every Sunday, when we go to choose teams, she looks at you all expectantly, and you pass her over for this oaf here."

"Hey!" Ron protested, but Harry cut him off.

"But she doesn't want to be on my team! She loves playing on your team! She likes competing with me!" he protested.

"Well of course she wants to be on my team. We practically slaughter you every time."

"That's a big of an exaggeration" Ron interrupted, but Draco kept talking.

"She doesn't want to be on your team, but she wants you to want her to be on your team."

At this, Harry looked at him with an obviously confused expression.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's not rocket science. She wants you to want her, so she can turn you down."

"So all I have to do is pick her for the next game?"

"Obviously."

Harry considered this for a moment.

"Well… thanks, Malfoy."

There was an awkward moment, all four of them realizing the significance of the first expression of gratitude between the pair in the eight years they had known each other.

"No problem."

The conversation quickly turned back to Quidditch, and Hermione returned to her book. But this time, the smirk on her face had grown significantly.

Harry and Ron arrived back at the Burrow in much higher spirits than when they had left. Neither wanted to admit it, but Malfoy was starting to grow on them.

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Unbeknownst to Hermione and her friends, a far more sinister meeting was taking place during their brainstorming session. In a dusty pub in Knockturn Alley, three men sat in a dark corner booth, their faces hidden from the other patrons of the establishment.

"So, the point, gentlemen," the first man spoke in a low, quiet voice, "is that this 'experiment' cannot be allowed to succeed. It would mean a reversal of all that we fought for in the war."

The second man nodded his assent and added "I have always believed the experiment was doomed to fail, but I must admit that recent developments have been troubling. It would be best to ensure its failure now – just to be safe."

The third man now leaned forward in the booth, staring at both of his companions in turn. "Let me make one thing clear," he began. "I don't care about the 'greater good' that you speak so virtuously about, nor do I care that this annoying little witch got a promotion that you deserved. All I care about is getting paid."

"Well then, gentlemen," the first man spoke again, leaning back in the booth with a confident grin, "I believe we have an accord."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

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A/N: First off, thanks for the reviews! I hit 20 the other day - I feel like a rockstar! (It clearly doesn't take much to excite me) Also, big props to Witbeyond for catching an error in my first chapter - Hermione uses a phone to call the Department of Mysteries. My bad - just completely missed it! As always, don't own anything - that honor belongs to Joanne Rowling. I want to start calling her that because I heard that she was told the HP series would never sell if she published under such a feminine name. Booo. Ok, enough soapboxing, on with the chapter! I'm introducing a new character in this chapter and I plan to have some fun with him. Enjoy!

Wait, one more thing: I realized today while I was reading through this chapter that this story has a bit of a 30Rock vibe - my Hermione has a dash of Liz Lemon in her (picture Liz's great proclamation "Another successful interaction with a man!") and Draco is a bit Tracy (although much smarter, but with the same love of attention). Ok that's it, I promise. I always talk way too much.

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"Split pea or cream of tomato?"

"Split pea."

"Split pea or cream of tomato?"

"Split pea."

"Split pea or cream of tomato?"

"Cream of tomato."

"Split pea or cr- Wait Bert! You've already had two bowls! No more until everyone has been served!" Draco asserted his authority with the large ladle he had been given.

Draco had been working at the soup kitchen on Saturdays for a few weeks now. He couldn't understand how anyone could want soup in July, but eaters came in droves.

He eyed the soup warily, knowing he could have made it much more delicious. He had offered to help with the cooking, but after one week he had been pushed to the serving table. Blow up _one_ cauldron and suddenly you're not fit to cook for the homeless. Ridiculous.

He looked up as a woman approached with two children. The children were what really got to him. He had never really been exposed to true poverty and what he saw shocked him. He readied his ladle and tried to give the kids a friendly smile, which was a stretch for a Malfoy.

"Split pea or cream of tomato?"

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Hermione looked around her office – everything was finally organized. She had grown sick of the stacks of files and toppling towers of paper and had devoted the first part of her morning to organizing everything.

She nodded approvingly to her office and jumped a bit when she heard a knock at the door.

Spinning around, the world seemed to move in slow motion as she saw… _him_.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Somehow he had wind in his hair even though they were inside. His muscles were well-defined, yet he seemed laid back. He wore a well-fitting button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Hermione couldn't remember where she lived or her middle name or what color her hair was. All she knew was that this man made Oliver Wood look like Milicent Bulstrode.

She continued to stare and after an awkward moment, the man decided to speak first.

"Hi Miss Granger, I'm Gideon Lockhart. I believe you knew my uncle, Gilderoy Lockhart? He was a teacher at Hogwarts while you were there."

She still didn't respond.

"I just thought I should stop by and say Hello. The Minister of Magic is keeping you the sole head of the D E Reintroduction Department, but I have recently been appointed to chair a committee on how to conduct the final trial, so we will probably be interacting quite a bit. I think Minister Shacklebolt will be calling us in for a meeting this afternoon, but I wanted to stop by and introduce myself first."

Hermione still stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to make any kind of noise.

"Well, anyway, it was nice to meet you." He started to awkwardly back away from her office and she finally sprung to action.

Hermione raced up to him and enthusiastically shook his hand.

"So good to meet you Gideon! I'm Hermione Granger. But I guess you knew that. And yes, I did know Professor Lockhart. I thought he was a very gifted professor before his… accident. Very good looking too!" _Did she really just say that?_ Before she could stop herself, she found herself rambling again. "I mean, well he was, but not that that matters. And you are too in fact. Not that _that_ matters. But really, I mean really, I mean… well… yes. Nice to meet you."

Cherry, firehouse, tomato – pick one. That was the color of her face.

Gideon flashed her a friendly smile that only revealed a trace of being thoroughly creeped out and quickly retreated.

She was thoroughly mortified. She collapsed in her chair and buried her face in her arms. After wallowing in her own self-pity for a few minutes, she picked herself up, brushed the hair out of her face, and got back to work. Every time she heard someone approaching her door, she sat up straight and fixed a smile to her face, hoping it would be Gideon again.

Finally, around 3:00 that afternoon her doorway was again graced by a good-looking man, but unfortunately not the one Hermione was hoping for.

Oliver Wood knocked on her open door with a smile, expecting his typical overly-friendly greeting.

Instead, he was greeted with a disappointed sigh and a dejected "Oh, hi Oliver. What can I do for you?"

Oliver was taken a little aback.

"Hi Hermione – is everything alright?"

"Yes of course. I'm just busy today. What was it that you wanted?"

"I was just with the Minister and he asked to see you in his office. I told him I'd relay the message."

She nodded and responded with a curt thank you. Oliver nodded and walked back to his office, puzzled by her cold reaction.

She watched him go, but Oliver held no charm for her anymore. She had stared into the face of an angel.

She finished the page she had been reading and replaced the report in the folder before heading to Kingsley's office. She mentally gave herself a pat on the back for managing to keep her office organized for one whole day.

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Hermione entered Kingsley's office and was surprised to find it more crowded than she had expected. In addition to the Minister, she found Draco and Gideon, her new acquaintance. She didn't think anyone on earth could outperform Draco in the looks department, but next to Gideon he looked merely average.

Hermione stumbled into a seat between Draco and Gideon and stammered a hello, conscious of Gideon's eyes following her every move. Draco, on her other side, rolled his eyes.

Kingsley waited until Hermione was seated and quickly brought the meeting to order.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Thank you for joining us. I have invited Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Lockhart to join us, seeing as this concerns both of them. I understand Mr. Malfoy now knows all the details?"

Draco nodded.

"Well I know the trial is still 8 months off-"

"8 months, 1 week, and 6 days," Draco interrupted. Kingsley paused before continuing.

"The trial is 8 months, 1 week, and 6 days off. Anyway, I think it's time to start planning it now. Mr. Lockhart here is in charge of the trial and I was hoping we could work together to determine a fair way to assess Mr. Malfoy's progress."

At this, Gideon snickered. Hermione was thrown off for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she began, "Am I missing something?"

"No, no," Gideon began explaining, "I just think it's ridiculous that we're spending all of this time planning a 'fair' trial for a Death Eater." He waved his hand dismissively at Draco.

Hermione suddenly found him far less attractive.

"King- I mean, Minister Shacklebolt, this hardly seems fair! He's biased already!" Hermione practically shouted.

"Hermione, Mr. Lockhart has been appointed by the Wizengamot. They trump my authority in this matter. If you want Mr. Malfoy to even have a trial, we have to do it his way."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Gideon, who was sporting a smirk to rival Draco's. She wondered why Draco wasn't reacting, but when she looked over, she found him swatting away a fly. She rolled her eyes – _some help he was_. It looked like she was on her own for this one.

"Well I think Veritaserum would be an acceptable method of examination," Hermione suggested, trying to hide her displeasure.

"Oh no no no," Lockhart quickly countered. "You expect me to believe that a dangerous Death Eater like this felon here hasn't learned how to overcome Veritaserum?"

All eyes turned to Draco.

"Well, yeah, I mean I've built up somewhat of an immunity," he admitted sheepishly. Lockhart threw his hands in the air.

"See! I knew we couldn't trust him!"

"Ok ok! We'll work something else out then."

Their conversation was cut short when a paper airplane memo came for Kingsley.

"I have to handle this – Seamus Finnegan has exploded his new department. That's the third one this month – I don't know what we're going to do with him. We'll meet again next week. In the meantime, can I count on all of you to keep the contents of this meeting secret?"

Draco, Hermione, and Gideon nodded. As they filed out of his office, Hermione scowled at Gideon one last time and stomped back to her office. She was just happy it was Friday.

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Draco lay in bed, trying to ignore the sunlight peeking through the window. It was his one day to sleep in and he planned to enjoy it. He heard Hermione stomping around, hinting that she wanted breakfast by not-so-subtly opening and closing cabinet doors and the refrigerator, but it was Saturday and she would have to settle for cereal. He rolled over again, resettled his pillow, and tried to return to the dream he had been having involving lots of money and that new secretary on the eighth floor.

He had just settled into sleep again when he heard an ungodly shriek from the kitchen. It sounded like a combination of an angry expression of frustration and a bird hitting the windshield of a car. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed.

What on earth could be wrong now?

He stepped out to find Hermione shaking the newspaper and muttering. She looked at him and shouted again. After a few seconds, it became clear that she couldn't form coherent words, so he just grabbed the newspaper for himself.

_A Deal With a Death Eater: The True Aspirations of Hermione Granger_

_By Rita Skeeter, Senior Correspondent_

_Dear Readers,_

_It has become common knowledge by now that Hermione Granger, our beloved war hero, is harboring one the war's most wretched criminals, Draco Malfoy. Until now, we have all assumed that she was doing this to punish him and to protect our society – an attitude of selfless sacrifice we have come to expect from the bright young witch. Well, it appears we have been mistaken! Hermione Granger has been going to great lengths to see to it that this criminal, this dangerous monster, is released back to the public! In an exclusive meeting with the Minister of Magic yesterday, Hermione Granger discussed the terms of Mr. Malfoy's final trial. Also present was Gideon Lockhart, the handsome nephew of Gilderoy Lockhart and shining star in the Ministry. Lockhart asserted his desire to uncover the truth about Mr. Malfoy's supposed "transformation," but Hermione Granger would have little fair play. In a dramatic perversion of her famous brilliance, Granger attempted to manipulate the Minister into a standard she knew to be corrupt. Knowing full well that Mr. Malfoy had built up an immunity to veritaserum, she quickly insisted that veritaserum be the sole method of testing Mr. Malfoy's reformation. Fortunately, that bright, caring young wizard Gideon Lockhart quickly realized Malfoy's immunity. Her plan foiled, Miss Granger uttered a string of expletives I dare not repeat, dear readers, and threw a loud, prolonged temper tantrum._

_Does this sound like the same witch who sacrificed her seventh year at Hogwarts to hunt horcruxes and finally take down He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named? The same selfless young woman who erased her own parents' memories to protect their lives, knowing their memories could possibly never be recovered? I think not. Clearly she has changed her loyalties. If Miss Granger has her way, our streets will soon be filled with free-roaming Death Eaters. It is almost enough to make one question her true intentions last spring and wonder where her loyalties lie. – Rita Skeeter_

Draco finished the paper and threw it onto the table. By this point, Hermione had finally calmed down enough to form words. She stood for a moment in thought, then voiced her suspicion.

"Draco, at one point in that meeting I noticed you were swatting a bug. Did you notice what it was?"

"Yeah, some stupid beetle. It wouldn't leave me alone!"

Hermione groaned. "There you have it. And I bet I know who opened the window for her."

.

.

Hermione explained the whole story to the Weasleys at brunch the next day. Having grown use to Skeeter's antics, none had been surprised by the article, nor had they believed the conniving journalist.

Unfortunately, the rest of the public was not so trusting, nor so kind. When Hermione got to work on Monday, her office was filled with angry owls and howlers. So much for that nicely organized office.

She sorted through the mail for anything actually important and destroyed the rest. When she finally returned her office to rights, she dove straight into her work. She would have loved to brainstorm Draco's trial and methods of testing his reformation, but she knew any ideas she came up with would be rejected anyway. _She would just have to roll with the punches_, she thought as she angrily flipped through pages of paperwork.

Midway through the morning, a knock on her doorframe caught her attention and she looked up into the face of her formerly future-husband. Maybe she shouldn't call him that.

Gideon's hands were behind his back; when he brought them in front of him, they held that dreaded newspaper.

"So, Hermione, do any interesting reading, lately? I didn't expect you to go to the press so soon!"

Hermione glared at him.

"It will take more than Rita Skeeter to stand in my way, Lockhart. You can pull all the tricks you want, but you won't win this one. I'm Hermione Granger. Perhaps you've heard of me?" She knew she sounded over-confident, but times like these called for swagger. She slowly walked up to Gideon until they stood a few inches apart. She stared directly into his eyes. _His perfectly blue, mesmerizing eyes._ She shook her head a little and forced herself to concentrate. She had to look intimidating. "I'm Hermione Granger. I don't fail. I don't even know how to fail. I've never failed at anything in my life and I definitely won't fail at something I care about as much as this. So put up your best fight, Lockhart." She paused here, and leaning forward she whispered in his ear "Let's hope you're stronger than _Voldemort_."

Lockhart looked at his shoes, then met her eye contact. "I would never compare myself to He Who Shall Not Be Named, Miss Granger, and I'll ask you to avoid doing the same."

"At least I have the courage to call him by his name."

"Courage, you have plenty of. But what about cunning? I was a Ravenclaw, you know. It will take much more than _courage_ to defeat me in court."

Hermione considered telling him that she had turned down Ravenclaw while under the sorting hat, but decided that would sound a little childish. She took a breath, gritted her teeth, and replied "I'm pretty sure I'm up to it. Please leave my office."

Gideon set the newspaper on her desk. "I have more copies if you'd like to send them to relatives."

She fingered her wand, but he backed out of her office before she had the chance to sever any limbs.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

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A/N: Hi there! I really like this chapter and I'm excited to post it - I think it has a few really fun parts. Thanks for all of the reviews and the feedback - it's very encouraging. To Hotwingincident - I don't know why it's difficult to find me and my story - maybe it has something to do with me being relatively new to ff? I'm still figuring out how everything works so if there's something I need to do to make myself more visible or easier to find, let me know.

As always, I own nothing from the wonderful world of Harry Potter, but I love to frolic through it. Also, the next chapter might be a touch delayed - I'm traveling a lot over the next couple of weeks and I'll try to post, but things are going to be sort of hectic. I'll do my best!

Enjoy! xoxo-Wing

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Monday night found Draco and Hermione drinking on the terrace. She had to admit, having a roommate, even an obnoxious one like Draco, was kind of fun.

She had just finished telling him of her confrontation with Gideon, sparing no detail. Her eyes had sparkled as she recounted her boasts to Gideon about how she was Hermione Granger and didn't even know how to fail.

"And then he threw the newspaper on my desk and told me he had more copies if I needed any to send to relatives. The nerve! I was about to cut off an appendage or two, but he left before he pushed me to my limit."

They were silent for a moment, chuckling softly at Hermione's brave stance.

"You really have never failed at anything, have you?" Draco asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. "No, not really. Except for flying – I'm awful at flying."

"But you _can_ do it, can't you?"

"I can, but not well."

"But you still can! That's not failing. What have you failed at?"

"Hmmm… well grades are out. I was never amazing at sports, but I held my own." She paused for a moment, thinking, then looked up, startled. "Draco! I don't think I've ever failed at anything!" She turned to him in amazement. "Have you? What have you failed at?"

Draco took a swig of his firewhiskey.

"I failed at killing Dumbledore. I failed at pleasing Voldemort."

"And thank Merlin you did," Hermione responded, clinking her glass to his. She couldn't believe how things had changed. Months ago, he would never have opened up to her like this. His hostility had abated so much; it had practically disappeared. She also would never have felt this comfortable talking to him like this.

"So you know what this means, Granger? You need to fail."

"I need to _what_?!"

"You need to fail. If you never fail, how will you appreciate your success? How will you know if you can bounce back from something and pick yourself up?" He could tell she wasn't buying it, so he switched to another tactic. "Hermione Granger!" he shouted drunkenly, "You are failing at failing! You _can't_ fail – no matter how hard you try! I'm _better_ than you at failing."

Her eyes immediately narrowed in focus. She took a strong swig of her drink.

"Malfoy, you're right. I need to fail! What can I fail at?!"

"I have one to start with. I challenge you to drink this entire bottle of firewhiskey!"

Sober Hermione would have scoffed. One-drink-Hermione would have eyed it, but realized she should stay away. Two-drink-Hermione would have tried a swig of it and decided it wasn't worth it. But three-drink-Hermione, which was the point she was currently at, thought it was a GREAT idea.

Draco handed her the bottle.

.

.

She woke up the next morning with a pounding headache in a room where the light seemed far too bright and her furniture seemed to be strangely active, roaming around the room. She was still in her clothes from the day before and had collapsed spread-eagle in her bed, on top of the comforter. As she surveyed her surroundings, she saw the firewhiskey bottle sitting on her nightstand, still 1/3 full.

Her first failure.

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A few days later, Harry made his way to Hermione's office, silently prepping his speech. His girlfriend had been nagging him for days to ask Hermione if Ginny could set her up with a friend Harry had made in auror training. Harry had made the mistake of inviting him over for dinner. When Ginny found him charming and discovered he was single, she immediately insisted that Harry set him up with Hermione. This wasn't the first time Ginny had tried to set her up, but for the first time Harry didn't think it was such a horrible idea – he liked Matt a lot. Now he just had to convince Hermione.

He reached the door to her office and saw a sight he definitely wasn't expecting.

There sat Hermione, trying desperately to balance a spoon on her nose. Oblivious to his presence for a moment, she tried in vain to get that spoon to stay on her nose, but alas, to no avail.

She finally noticed Harry and beckoned him into her office, but did not put down the spoon.

"Should I ask what you're doing?" Harry asked.

"Failing." She responded. She set the spoon aside and looked at Harry with a huge grin.

"I never thought I'd see you so happy about failing at something."

"I know! It's just something I've started doing lately – Draco got me going on it. I realized that I was super bad at failing, so now I'm getting better at it. Look! I absolutely _cannot_ balance this spoon on my nose." She demonstrated for Harry once more.

"I've also failed at holding my breath longer than a minute, parallel parking, and this really cool trick Draco can do with bubble gum where he blows one bubble inside of another bubble. I'd try harder to accomplish them… but I'm actually enjoying failing!"

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen her this excited. Taking advantage of her good mood, he got to the point of his visit.

"So… I had my friend Matt over the other night for dinner and Ginny really liked him. She's been hounding me for days to set you up with him so I figured I'd better pop on by before she hexes me again. I'll just tell her that you're not interested and we'll move on."

"Oh…. Well… maybe I wouldn't be that opposed."

"What? You'd really go for a set-up?"

"Well what's he like?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Umm… he's nice, and smart, and pretty good looking – according to Ginny! It's not like I've thought about it. He's a good guy, though. I think you would like him."

Hermione thought for a moment.

"Well what the heck, let's go for it. Worst case scenario, I'll have something else to add to my fail list."

"Great! I'll set it up. Meet him at The Pewter Cauldron in Diagon Alley tomorrow at 6."

Hermione acted cool, but inside she was actually pretty excited. After Harry left, she indulged herself in a girly smile and a little dance.

Good things come to those who fail!

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The next night, Draco sat on the couch, rubbing his temples. Hermione rushed into the room for possibly the fiftieth time, sporting yet another potential date outfit.

"What about this one? Or is this shirt a tad too long? Yes, I think it's about an inch too long. And does it even go with these pants? Oh, dear. Maybe I'll go with the shirt but change the pants. Or stick with the pants but change the shirt. Or I could wear a skirt!"

Draco groaned audibly. "You look _fine_. Just go with that one."

Hermione looked satisfied for a moment, but jumped with a new idea. "Wait! Just one more! I just remembered this dress that I have that I wore that one time-" Hermione raced back to her bedroom.

Draco frowned into his glass of water. Hermione had cut him off the firewhiskey for a bit, pointing out that alcoholism would hardly make him a more attractive defendant at the trial. A few minutes later, Hermione rushed into the room again.

Draco looked up. Hermione now wore a dark blue dress, sleeveless with a v-neck and an a-line tea length skirt. Of course, Draco didn't know any of those terms. He did know, however, that she looked incredible. She stood there nervously smoothing down her skirt, rambling about how she ought to put on a cardigan or maybe switch back to the jeans.

Draco stood and walked over to her. He couldn't believe how breathtaking she looked and, for a moment, found himself speechless.

He tucked a curl behind her ear and met her anxious eyes.

"This is the one. You look… well you look good. Or as good as you'll ever look, anyway." He quickly covered up his real impression and shoved his hands in his pockets. Hermione beamed as if he had told her she was the most beautiful witch he had ever seen, which at that moment was closer to the truth than he cared to admit.

"Thanks, Draco." There was an awkward moment where they stood, facing each other, about a foot apart. Suddenly, Hermione caught sight of the clock.

"Oh my gosh! I'm going to be late!" She grabbed a gray cardigan and raced for the floo.

"Wish me luck!"

But she disappeared before he could. He stood there, staring at the fireplace into which she had just disappeared, suddenly feeling very confused.

He decided to settle himself down with a crossword puzzle. He quickly found, however, that no matter how hard he tried, he could not concentrate on the page before him.

_Ok, so he found her attractive. Big deal. He was a man and she was the only female he saw on a regular basis. He was probably just sex-deprived. That was all. _

He read the first crossword clue. "Primary color besides red and yellow." He wrote "blue" and all he saw was Hermione's dress. "A day or an outing." He scribbled in "date" and angrily thought about the loser she would be meeting at the restaurant. "Farmer, rancher." The answer had seven letters. As he realized the solution was "granger," he threw down the newspaper and stormed into the kitchen, letting out an exasperated grumble.

Cleaning was his solace. He couldn't really explain his proclivity for cleaning, but somehow it calmed him down. He liked the sense of fulfillment it gave him as well as the perfection that resulted. He started with the counters. He washed them and cleaned them with the spray Hermione had gotten him for his birthday. Well, the same kind of spray, but his third bottle. He had gone through the first one in a week. He scrubbed out the sink, but was left with nothing else to clean. He considered rewashing all of the clean dishes, but he wasn't that desperate.

He stood in the empty, quiet apartment. He had been alone a lot since his house arrest began, particularly in those first couple of months before the job in the Potions Department, but this was the first time that he felt… lonely. Deciding he didn't want to consider what that meant, he grabbed a book and decided to call it an early night. He definitely didn't want to be awake when Hermione got back from her date.

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The next day was Sunday and everyone at the Burrow was excited to hear about Hermione's date, Ginny having filled them all in on her plans. As they sat around the table gorging on French toast and waffles, Hermione recounted her evening.

"He brought me flowers. Carnations – very thoughtful."

_Or lame_, Draco thought to himself.

"He pulled my chair out for me and opened every door we passed through."

_Pathetic_, Draco thought.

"We ate and chatted all night. He is very charming." Hermione practically beamed.

Draco grimaced.

Everyone at the table grinned at Hermione and shared her excitement, but only one person picked up on Draco's reaction – his new best mate Little Red. Setting Hermione up with Matt had been her idea, but now as she sat at the table watching him angrily cut up his sausage, she started to wonder if maybe she should have been meddling in… another direction.

"And Matt's going to join us for Quidditch this afternoon!" Harry announced. Everyone beamed and Draco consoled himself with the last sausage link, chewing sulkily.

After breakfast, they all poured outside to take advantage of the pleasant afternoon. Matt arrived with a friendly grin and hugged Hermione, whose cheeks quickly turned pink. Draco rolled his eyes. He already hated this prat.

After choosing teams, Harry had Ron, Matt, and Bill. He had chosen Ginny first, but she had just walked over to join Draco's team with a smile on her face instead, as she had done every time that Harry had selected her since he had first taken Draco's suggestion. Draco's team contained Ginny, George, and Fleur. Percy stomped around, pouting over not being picked for either team. Hermione manned her scoreboard.

They still weren't playing with beaters, but you wouldn't know it watching the game. Draco "accidentally" slammed into Matt's broom twice, once reaching out a leg and trying to kick him off. Claiming that he saw the snitch, he also once rammed into him with his shoulder. Matt took it all good-naturedly, which only made Draco hate him more.

After a few hours, when it became obvious that Draco wasn't even looking for the snitch and the August heat was starting to get to everyone, they decided to call it a day.

When they got back to Hermione's flat, Draco expected to be hexed and shouted at by Hermione, but instead she just sighed dreamily and sunk into her couch.

"Isn't he charming, Draco? And the way he flies on a broom… I think I really like him!"

Draco gritted his teeth behind her.

"Sure. He's fine." He stormed into his room and shut his door loudly behind him, but Hermione didn't notice. She was too busy planning her outfit for their second date the following night.

.

.

Unfortunately for Draco, Hermione's relationship with Matt didn't end after the second date. Or after the third, or the fourth, or even the tenth.

As August came to a close, Hermione and Matt were still going strong. Matt often spent evenings at her flat and the two would watch movies together or play board games. Draco usually retreated to his room during those evenings, seething. His only consolation was that Granger had installed a small television in his room, providing him with some entertainment. Matt had even started regularly attending Sunday Brunch. Since his first visit to the Burrow three weeks prior, Molly had fawned over him. The boys loved him and appreciated another experienced Quidditch player. Ginny still greeted him with a smile, but Draco knew that if push came to shove, she was in his corner.

Not that he had a corner or anything, because that would mean he was somehow competing with Matt for something… or someone.

The only time Draco could truly get away from him was in the Potions Lab, and even that had been spoiled when Matt had started stopping by Hermione's office at the end of the day and accompanying her home as she escorted Draco.

Now Draco sat in his bedroom, spying on them through his window. Matt kissed her goodbye at the doorstep of her building.

_What a putz_, Draco thought to himself. He avoided Hermione when she got back to the flat, claiming a headache and going to bed early.

.

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On Sunday morning, Draco waited in the living room for Hermione to get ready for the trip to the Burrow. A month ago, she would have just gone out in her faded jeans, Gryffindor t-shirt, and sneakers. She would not even have bothered to run a brush through her hair. Now he sat, looking at his watch for the sixth time, wondering what was taking her so long. When she finally ran into the living room, Draco was surprised to see her hair pulled back in a pretty plait, a somewhat frilly top, and a _skirt_. He tried to hide his distaste. It wasn't that she looked _bad – _he just hated why she looked so nice. He sulked as she grabbed his elbow and apparated them to the Burrow.

Matt had not yet arrived when they got there. Hermione went to help Ron and Harry degnome the garden, while Draco stayed in the kitchen to help Molly.

Hermione quickly took the opportunity to rant about Draco's recent mood swing to her two best friends.

"We were making so much progress! Now he's just moping and grumbling every day. Has he said anything to you?" She asked the boys.

"No, but I don't see him much now that my potions internship is over. Maybe he's just going stir-crazy," suggested Harry.

"Yeah, maybe he has cabin fever," added Ron.

"Well I don't know what to do about it." Hermione sighed exasperatedly.

Harry thought for a moment as he helped Ron corner a particular feisty gnome.

"Well maybe we can help. He's probably sick of doing girly stuff all the time-" he stopped as he saw Hermione narrow her eyes.

"You know what I mean. Maybe he needs some guy time." Harry added.

"That would definitely help. Would you be on board, Ron?"

"I'll do it for you Hermione, but if he starts to be an insufferable prat, I can't promise I won't hex him."

"Deal." Hermione stated with a smile on her face.

.

.

Draco watched the trio from the kitchen window, washing his hands after helping in the kitchen. Molly thanked him for his help and, finding nothing else that needed his assistance, sent him out to join the others. He started to head to the garden, but Ginny intercepted him and steered him toward another corner of the yard, far from Hermione and the boys. After watching him for the last few weeks, she had decided there was definitely something juicy going on, and she aimed to get to the bottom of it.

Draco looked over his shoulder, but nobody seemed to have noticed his captivity. When Ginny was sure they were far enough away from the rest of the brunch attendees, she spun Draco to face her and crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. Her seriousness momentarily took him aback.

"Spill it, Malfoy," she began bluntly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied stubbornly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Every time Matt's around or any time his name is even mentioned, your face immediately sours. Like that!" she exclaimed, pointing out the instinctual look of disgust that had crossed his face when she said his name.

"I just think he's annoying, that's all."

"Really? Nothing more?"

"Of course not. Just a prat, that's all."

Ginny wanted to question him more, but at that moment the topic of their conversation appeared in the yard just as Molly shouted that food was ready. That boy really did have good timing.

Ginny and Draco walked back to the house and joined everyone for brunch. Draco grumbled inwardly when he noticed that the seat to Hermione's right, the one he typically occupied, was now home to the object of his displeasure: King Prat himself. At that moment, he realized that "prat" rhymed with "Matt" and immediately set about creating jokes in his head.

As the Weasleys and their guests dug into piles of baked goods and breakfast meats, Matt entertained them all with a recounting of his first solo mission as part of his auror training.

"I hadn't expected the dragon to possess that much fire!" he explained, to the amusement of his captivated audience.

_Matt the prat. What a prat, that Matt, _thought Draco.

"Once I managed to get a good angle on the soft bit of skin under his chin, I raised my wand and quickly cast the sleeping spell." Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands and Hermione sighed appreciatively.

_My name is Matt and I am a prat. Matt prat Matt prat Matt prat_. Ok, so maybe the rhyme didn't automatically lead to the best jokes. Still, he was having fun.

"It really just felt so good to help someone, you know?" Matt had clearly won over his audience, who all grinned at him with admiration. Even Ginny was finding it difficult to remember whose side she was on.

Draco had run out of rhymes, but at least they had occupied him through that prat's terrible story. _Really, who can't subdue a dragon with a simple sleeping spell? Do something difficult and maybe I'll be impressed_.

Draco was looking forward to knocking Matt off his broom during Quidditch, but unfortunately it was raining. After a mountainous breakfast, he and Hermione flooed back to her apartment. She didn't stay long, though; she and Matt had made plans to see a film and she quickly headed out.

Draco watched her leave from his window and turned back to his room after she was gone, settling on his bed with his arms folded behind his head.

He thought about Ginny's questions from earlier. He didn't really know why he hated Matt. He knew that he thought he was annoying and boring, but wasn't sure why he _hated_ him for it. He thought of the other night, seeing Matt kiss Hermione goodnight.

Maybe that was it.

As that kiss ran through his memory, the little jealous dragon in the pit of his stomach roared.

"Oh, no," he whispered to the empty room.

Oh, no indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

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A/N: Sorry for the delay - blame wedding season! And Amtrak, blame them too. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Thanks for the reviews! Oh, and I own nothing of the vast Harry Potter estate. xoxo!-Wing

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Draco awoke on Saturday morning to a sound he was quickly getting used to: an angry Hermione stomping around the apartment. He yawned and stretched before groggily stumbling out to the kitchen to see what was the matter this time. Hermione shook the newspaper at him angrily, before beginning to read aloud the article that had prompted her rage.

"Yes, dear readers, the infamous and bloodthirsty Draco Malfoy honestly believes that he can convince us of his innocence by serving soup and promising charitable donations after he regains his fortune (if, heaven forbid, he is given the opportunity!)!" Her voice grew louder as she read, until she was practically shrieking "opportunity."

"Well, at least she didn't mention you at all this time," Draco added with another yawn.

"Oh there's a whole paragraph reserved for that. Apparently I'm using my intelligence for manipulation, viewing the public of the wizarding world as my puppets. _Apparently_ I'm exploiting my fame and good name to free a vicious criminal. _APPARENTLY_ I'm finally displaying my true loyalties – to the side of darkness instead of light!" She was shouting again and Draco tiredly threw up his arms in surrender.

"Ok ok, I get it." He reached out and took the paper from her, tossing it onto the counter. "I don't know why you care about all of that rubbish. No one believes it anyway." He reached for a mug and the pot of coffee.

She narrowed her eyes at him and stomped over to her bookshelf, practically seething. Seemingly at random, she selected book after book, stacking them on her coffee table until she had 4 teetering piles. She retrieved some parchment and a quill and sat down on her couch, surveying the sources she had collected. She looked back to Draco, who was still leaning against the counter sipping his coffee.

"And what, may I ask, are you planning to research this morning?" Draco asked, trying to hide his laughter.

"I need to figure out how Rita Skeeter is making it past the wards that I have so carefully been putting in place. Do you think that animagi require different wards?" She asked and reached for a book midway down the second pile, carefully removing it and leaving the pile in an even more precarious state.

"Maybe you made a mistake when you put the wards in place." Draco suggested.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him again, her scowl making it perfectly obvious that his suggestion was preposterous, and turned back to her research.

Draco thought about helping her, but needed to get ready for his day with Harry and Ron. He left her there, flipping through books and marking pages with scraps of parchment, angrily muttering to herself.

Draco was happy to leave when Harry and Ron picked him up for their self-declared "guys' day." The problem, they soon learned, was that they didn't really know what that entailed. They ended up at Diagon Alley, absently wandering past busy shops, Ron annoyingly kicking a pebble until Draco kicked it into a ditch. Ron scowled, but Harry shot Draco a thankful look.

A lot had changed in Diagon Alley – many shops had been rebuilt and reopened, but others had disappeared. In their place were some new establishments – a new wand shop, a couple of new robe stores, and a competitor to Quality Quidditch Supplies, although the boys didn't expect that one to last long.

One of the strangest additions to Diagon Alley was a number of kiosks stationed a few blocks apart purporting to sell Death-Eater-protection charms. They were similar to what had been sold during the war effort to "protect" people from Voldemort (and the boys suspected that many of the products were actually just left over from a few months before and had been repurposed and relabeled). Now, though, they were specifically marketed to detect and protect one from rogue Death Eaters.

Ron made a big joke of pulling Draco away from one of the kiosks they passed, 'for his own protection.' Harry laughed, Draco rolled his eyes, and the wizard manning the kiosk shot them a spiteful glare.

They visited Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Draco helped Harry choose a present for Ginny. They ate ice cream at the newly reopened Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour (run by Florean's grandson Finian) and spent most of the morning in Weasley Wizard Wheezes checking out the new products. Ron especially enjoyed Draco's misadventures, being relatively unfamiliar with the Weasley products.

They would have visited more shops, but Diagon Alley was crowded with Hogwarts students and their parents stocking up on supplies and textbooks for another year. All three watched the students hungrily, nostalgic about their own pre-school trips.

The atmosphere affected Draco especially. He had missed his parents since their separation in March, but this tableaux before him sharpened the pangs. When Harry suggested that they go to his place for an afternoon of Quidditch and an evening of poker, he readily assented, eager to leave the happy scene behind.

.

.

"Read 'em and weep, boys!" Draco showed Harry, Ron, George, Seamus, and Neville his full house. The rest of the men groaned and threw their cards down, rolling their eyes as Draco swept the chips from the center of the table back go his ever-growing hoard.

"I can't catch a single card!" lamented Neville.

The boys had been initially hesitant to spend the evening in the company of one of their recent enemies. After a few hands and rounds of firewhiskey, however, they were all reminiscing as if they had been best mates at Hogwarts.

"Remember when Parvati and Padma Patil switched places for an entire week and no one noticed? They threw such a fit!"

"As if we were supposed to notice – they're identical!"

"And remember when Michael Corner got caught sending love notes to Romilda Vane!"

"McGonagall made him read them in front of the whole class!"

Of course, Draco's ferret incident entered the conversation, but he quickly countered with embarrassing stories about each of them.

As the evening progressed and the alcohol grew depleted, the talk grew more serious. After reminiscing about friends lost and the futures they would have had, the men sat in silence, staring at the hand they had held for 15 minutes without realizing that no one had placed a bet.

Finally, Draco spoke up, voicing words he could barely believe came out of his own mouth.

"It's strange, what time does. And being out of school, you know? Like a few years ago, I hated you guys. Hating you was part of who I was – like this piece of me. But now, it just seems… rather pointless, you know? We've just witnessed so much more and every time I look back, we just seem so…_ young_."

"And naïve," Neville added.

"And stupid," Ron contributed, shaking his head.

All sat in silence, thinking over their childhoods, regretting things they said and did, yet forgiving themselves at the same time. Finally, Harry broke the reverie.

"Well, now that Malfoy's extra X chromosome is making an appearance, perhaps we should call it a night," Harry announced.

Draco chuckled. "Yeah, better stop now before I admit that I was always jealous of Neville's toad or always wished to have been born with red hair and freckles."

The group disbanded with a promise to meet at least once a month for cards. Harry apparated Draco back to Hermione's, where the two of them found her asleep on the couch, with three books piled on her stomach and another open on her leg. She was surrounded by notes and quills. Harry carried her to bed before disapparating back to his own home. Draco chuckled as he gathered up her books and notes. He looked over her progress, but it didn't look like she had figured out what Skeeter was up to. No doubt he would hear all about it tomorrow. With that exhausting thought in mind, he stretched his arms above his head and headed to bed.

.

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Draco's happy mood after such a relaxing and enjoyable guys' night was continued the next day at Weasley Brunch. He happily scooped sausage onto his plate before passing the dish to his right. For the first time in weeks, brunch was Matt-free. He was on a "mission" for his auror training – probably something wimpy and lame that he would play up in stories. In celebration of the prat's absence, Draco helped himself to pancakes _and_ French toast.

His happiness was short-lived however. Not long after everyone started to eat, a knock was heard at the front door. Everyone at the table looked at each other confused – no one ever used that door. Most visitors floo'd to the house, while others came to the back door, which the family used far more often. Molly quickly set down her napkin and hurried to see who was there.

Draco shrugged, assuming it was a family friend or someone from the ministry, and tucked into his enormous celebratory breakfast. His fork was halfway to his mouth, loaded with pancakes, syrup, and strawberries when he heard the one voice that could ruin his entire day.

"I know I said I couldn't make it, but we achieved our objective much sooner than expected, and I just had to stop by for some of your fabulous cooking! I didn't want to alarm you by popping through the floo unexpectedly, so I apparated about half a mile away and walked. What a lovely day for it too!"

Draco set down his fork and put his head in his hands. This man was quickly becoming the bane of his existence.

Molly's excitement could not be contained and she quickly ushered Matt to the table, pushing Draco to the side to squeeze in another chair between him and Hermione for Matt.

Draco stared forlornly at his plate, but found he was no longer hungry. His hopes that breakfast would end soon were dashed, however, when Matt began to regale everyone with the account of his mission.

"We had a tip that Amycus Carrow was hiding out in western Africa, but if he was there, he covered his tracks and disappeared before we got there."

"Where in Africa?" Ron asked.

"Mozambique," Matt responded.

Hermione looked confused. "Mozambique's in southern Africa – do you mean Mali?" she asked.

"Oh, of course, Mali," Matt answered, clapping his hand against his head and laughing. "That's what you get after a morning of inter-continental travel!"

The brunchers (minus Draco) laughed at his joke and continued to ask about his adventure.

"Well we had a tip that Carrow was hiding out there. I know he's not one of the more dangerous death eaters, but it was an honor just to be invited, really," Matt explained humbly.

"You're being far too modest!" Molly assured him, "Chasing a death eater and only in training! They must really think highly of you at the Ministry!"

"I didn't even know that we had received that intelligence," Harry added.

"It was kept confidential – on a need to know basis," Matt explained. Hermione practiced beamed with pride at Matt's courage and prominence at the Ministry.

Draco ate a piece of sausage, hoping that the sound of chewing would drown out Matt's boring story. _So what if he had tracked a known dangerous Death Eater throughout the African continent? So what if he had courageously volunteered for a potentially life-threatening mission? So what if he had apparated to another continent_ – here Draco froze. Apparating over long distances was extremely difficult and apparating to another continent was almost unheard of.

He waited for a pause in the conversation and then casually asked "How did you get there?"

Matt looked surprised that Draco had joined in the discussion, but recovered quickly. "Took a portkey," he explained.

Everyone at the table nodded, but Draco persisted.

"I thought the Ministry didn't authorize inter-continental portkeys on weekends?" He had often listened to his parents complain about this particular restriction. It had put a damper on spontaneous shopping trips and vacations. _Pureblood problems._

"They made a special case for us. I mean, did you listen to what I was saying? We were tracking a _known Death Eater_." Draco noticed that Matt got more defensive here, almost hostile. Within a moment however, his perfect smile was back in place and the conversation moved forward.

As the others continued the conversation, Matt leaned over to Draco and whispered so only he could hear "You'd know all about the dangers of Death Eaters, wouldn't you?"

Draco stared straight ahead, pretending he hadn't heard him. Before this, he had always disliked Matt because he was overly cheerful, annoying, and dating Herm- well mainly the first two. _Let's stick with those two_, he thought. But now, he was becoming deeply suspicious of the man seated to his left.

He observed Matt the rest of the afternoon, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred. They played Quidditch, during which Matt was a perfect gentleman (and a great Chaser, as he had learned weeks ago). No one else seemed the least bit concerned. Even Ginny, who had started to dislike Matt after she noticed Draco's jealousy, was laughing and joking with him as the two tossed the Quaffle back and forth. Harry and Ron invited him to their next poker night (Draco inwardly groaned) and Molly was thoroughly enamored with him.

Draco was still suspicious, but wasn't sure how to tell Hermione – or if he should even tell her. He continued to debate his options as they left the Burrow later that afternoon. As he watched Matt kiss her goodbye, however, he made up his mind. He had to get rid of this guy.

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When they got back to Hermione's flat, Draco decided to employ all of his Slytherin cunning. He left the tv off while she read (although it KILLED him to miss Jeopardy) and even brought her a cup of tea.

But he kicked it into high gear at dinner – he cooked her favorite meal _and_ served it at the table because he knew how much she liked eating there and how rarely they did. He was dying to broach the subject, but waited throughout dinner. He knew his patience would pay off. They moved into the kitchen after dinner and Hermione leaned against the counter with a glass of wine as Draco washed the dishes. With his back to her, he decided to casually bring up the subject and gauge her reaction.

"So Matt must be pretty high up in the auror program for them to authorize an inter-continental portkey on a Sunday like that."

"Yes, I suppose so." Hermione paused, wistfully. "He's so brave!" She sighed audibly and Draco rolled his eyes.

This was not going the way he had hoped.

"But it's a little odd, isn't it, the way he couldn't remember the country he was going to?" He knew he was taking a risk here and when he heard Hermione begin to respond, he knew she was onto him.

"Are you suspicious of something Draco? I heard how you questioned him at the Burrow." Her tone was accusatory and he dreaded turning around to face her. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"Out with it! I know you've had a problem with him for a long time and it's just getting ridiculous. You're acting like a child!"

Draco spun around.

"_I'm _acting like a child? Open your eyes, Granger! His story today made no sense!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Draco pushed on.

"First he can't even remember what country he visited – can't even remember which portion of the continent he was on! And then he has that story about the portkey? There's no WAY they would authorize that. Intercontinental portkeys were banned on weekends after Ministry higher-ups kept using them for personal vacations – don't you remember reading about it in the Prophet a few years back?"

"Well this was for a _mission_, Draco-"

He pressed on, interrupting her. "And even _if_ he managed to secure an international portkey on a weekend, that was a pretty quick trip to Africa and back, don't you think? They wouldn't have been able to connect directly to their destination and would have had to travel there-"

Now Hermione cut him off.

"Enough with the conspiracy theories, Draco! This is ridiculous! Why would Matt lie about where he was this morning? And if he really wanted to do something secret or dastardly, why would he come straight to brunch afterward? I don't have to listen to this."

Hermione slammed down her glass and marched to her room. Draco hung his head. Maybe hanging out with so many Gryffindors was having an effect on him – he was really losing his Slytherin touch.

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Draco had expected their spat to blow over by the next day – he had done far worse in the last few months and Hermione had never stayed angry for long. He was shocked, then, to find Hermione ignoring him for the rest of the week. Each morning she escorted him to work without a word. The journey home was equally silent. She spent most of each evening in her room. Draco cooked dinner each night, but every time she ignored him and just grabbed something from the refrigerator.

Twice she went out with Matt. She didn't tell Draco where she was going or when she would be back, but he saw her meet him on the front steps from his window. On the second occasion, Matt looked up and made eye contact with Draco before placing his hand on Hermione's back and, with a smirk, walking away with her. Draco was seething.

The week was a horrible one for Draco. Hermione had been his only constant contact and with her silence, he felt himself going insane. The feelings of missing his family and friends that his trip to Diagon Alley had aroused only grew with the more time he spent alone. His only solace was knowing that he would be joining the boys for another outing on Saturday _and_ that Matt wouldn't be there. He had another "mission" this weekend. Draco rolled his eyes at that thought.

It had been a tough week for Hermione too. She was so mad at Draco and so frustrated with him. She was also under higher pressure than ever at work. The prisoners who were still in limbo – not yet in Azkaban, but not yet free – were starting to lose their patience and were calling for trials or some form of representation. Hermione had submitted report after report about the functions of her experiment and her results so far – results she had to phrase so positively while still so angry at that stupid git.

Worst of all, Rita Skeeter's reports were becoming more frequent, more nasty, and, perhaps most alarmingly, more accurate. She somehow had obtained access to numerous details and Hermione wasn't sure how – she was becoming paranoid of every flying insect around her. She had even asked the Weasleys to set up specific wards to prevent animagi from visiting the Burrow after a conversation she had at Sunday Brunch ended up in the _Prophet_ the next day. The next time she caught that stupid beetle, she was going to put her in a jar and give her to some kindergarten class.

At least things were going well with Matt. She hadn't told him about Draco's suspicions – she didn't want to alarm him or scare him away. They had gone to a vineyard on their last date and tried different varieties of wine – how romantic! At the memories of that evening, her sour mood had faded a bit.

Now it was Friday and her positive mood increased with the realization that Draco would be out of the house all day tomorrow. She thought about inviting Matt over for the day, but remembered that he would be gone on a mission the entire weekend. She leaned back in her office chair and thought about how lucky she had been to find him. He was charming, handsome, brave – was there anything wrong with him? She couldn't think of anything.

She looked up at the clock and realized it was ten minutes to five. She finished up the case file she was working on and headed down to pick up Draco. On the way to the Potions Department, she ran into Neville Longbottom, who was headed down there for some veritaserum.

They exchanged pleasantries and made small talk, but Hermione decided to take this chance to ask a question that had been niggling at her brain.

"Hey Neville, I know this sounds sort of random, but do you know if I could secure an intercontinental portkey for tomorrow? I have some work to do in Australia-"

Neville cut her off before she could finish her lame excuse.

"No, definitely not. I've been trying to get one for a month to go after a few of Karkaroff's buddies who are hiding in South America – to no avail. The Ministry says to just go on a weekday, but they don't get it. I've been observing their schedules and I have spies on the ground – the only time they leave their heavily secured compound is on Saturday afternoons to travel to another secure location for some sort of meeting. Our only chance to apprehend them is during their travel time. I finally got permission to take one next Friday and stay there for the weekend." Neville suddenly looked sheepish. "You see, I sort of forgot that I could go earlier and still be there on Saturday. Luna pointed that out. She's a smart one, that Luna."

Neville kept talking about their friend, but Hermione had stopped paying attention. _Surely if the mission was urgent enough they could secure the portkey?_ That's what Matt had said and she had to believe him. Still… No. She wouldn't let Draco into her head. Matt was perfect and wonderful and she should trust him – he had never given her any reason not to.

She met Draco and, as she had all week, she escorted him home in silence. It was getting harder to stay angry with him, but she felt like if she forgave him, she was somehow turning her back on Matt. She knew she was sort of sabotaging her experiment by being so mean to him, but he had started it. That's what she told herself anyway.

When they got home, she headed to her room to change. She was meeting Ginny for drinks and didn't want to be late. She quickly ditched her work clothes for jeans and a fun top. She considered heels, but quickly nixed that idea and went for flipflops. She threw her hair up in a ponytail and checked the clock. She was supposed to meet Ginny in ten minutes, but fortunately the bar they were going to was just a few blocks from her flat.

She grabbed her bag and ran to the door. She paused after opening it, however, and turned back to face Draco on the couch. He was looking at the tv, ignoring her.

"I'm going out with Ginny for drinks." She paused when he didn't respond. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

Draco looked at her, and they made eye contact for the first time that week. "How about my wand back and access to my bank account?" He asked sarcastically.

She gave him a small smile before heading out. When he smiled back, she knew they were working their way back toward peace.

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At the bar, she explained all of the recent events to Ginny. She had expected Ginny to gawk at Draco's accusations and to get just as angry as she was, but Ginny surprised her by seriously considering the situation, quietly sipping her drink.

"And you said you asked Neville about the weekend portkeys?"

"Yes, but I mean that's Neville. I wouldn't trust him with my car keys, let alone an intercontinental portkey."

"Still, it is a little odd. And Draco has a point with how quickly he returned."

"But why would he still have come to brunch?"

"I think you have a point there," Ginny acknowledged.

Hermione was silent for a moment.

"What do you think?" she asked Ginny honestly. "Do you like Matt? Are you suspicious at all?"

Ginny thought about the matter carefully.

"I do like Matt. I think he's kind and charming and _very _good looking." Ginny and Hermione shared a smile, but then Ginny continued. "But, if I'm being honest, I trust Draco more than I like Matt."

Hermione took a sip of her drink. She had a lot to think about.

When she got home that night, Draco was already in his room. She headed straight to bed too – it had been a long week and she had a lot on her mind.

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Draco woke up very excited for his day with the guys on Saturday. During their last trip to Diagon Alley, the manager of Quality Quidditch Supplies had told them that a new broom was coming in that day from the makers of the Firebolt – the "Thunderclap." The manager had promised them a private flying session with it – Draco had to acknowledge there were _a few_ perks of being friends with the "Chosen One."

The boys were practically giddy as they hurried down the street.

"I hear that the twigs come from a tree in South America that was only recently discovered!" Ron gushed.

"And it has the fastest turning speed of any broom ever created," Harry added.

"And with the pear wood broomstick, you only need to wax it half as often," Draco announced.

If possible, their excitement increased.

They were not disappointed either. They each got to try out the new broomstick in a private riding field behind the shop – even Draco, because wards were set up to keep him from leaving. They couldn't believe how fast it was and how smoothly it handled.

After their rides, Harry and Ron began to fill out order forms to buy their own. Suddenly, Harry looked back at Draco and asked for another form. Draco started to protest, but Harry quickly countered.

"You can pay me back once you have access to your Malfoy millions again," he said with a smirk.

Draco smiled, partially at the prospect of his new broom and partially at Harry's confidence in his case.

He was having trouble remembering a better weekend. After the Quidditch shop, they stopped at Weasley Wizard Wheezes to check out the newest projects and then hit up Fortescue's for ice cream. Without Hermione or Ginny there to judge them, they all ordered three scoops each and enjoyed every bite of them.

They were walking back to the Leaky Cauldron, still talking about the Thunderclap, when Draco stopped suddenly. Harry and Ron kept walking for a moment, but, realizing they had lost their third companion (and the one they were legally responsible for), they quickly turned back.

Draco was staring at a small café next to Madam Malkin's Robe Shop. Harry and Ron searched for what he was looking at and quickly found it. At a small table in a corner of the café's patio sat three men: Gideon Lockhart, Michael Corner, and Matt.

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Another A/N: DUN DUN DUN! Cliffhanger! Also, let me just say here that I know the "no intercontinental portkeys on a weekend" thing is a little lame, but I needed a plot device. It works well and I'm just going with it. Until next time!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

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A/N: So sorry for the delay! I had bridesmaid duties all last week. To make up for it I'm going to try to post two chapters this week! Thanks so much for all of the reviews - it's so fun to see people getting into this story! Hopefully I don't disappoint! This chapter is a little short because it was getting massive and I decided to split it in half. And for those of you getting anxious for the romance, I'm letting it build slowly, but I promise I have some really awesome scenes in my mind that hopefully will be worth the wait. And as always, I own nothing from the HP universe.

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Enjoy! xoxo-Wing

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Hermione usually prided herself on understanding the looks of her two best friends. She could tell when Harry was upset or angry, as well as when he was genuinely happy. She could tell when he was lying and when he was trying to weasel information out of her. She could even tell when he was solving a problem in his mind, putting pieces together and gaining a clearer picture of a situation.

Ron was easier to read. His anger was obvious; his joy was blatant. She could always tell when he was confused… which he usually was.

She had even gotten pretty talented at reading Draco's face over the last few months. He was tougher to read than Harry and Ron, both because she didn't know him as well and because he had been raised and trained to hide all emotion and remain stoic. Still, she could detect when he was angry and when he was kidding, when he was genuinely happy (a rare occasion), and especially when he was concentrating.

Yes, Hermione Granger was excellent at reading the faces of the men in her life.

Yet, at the Sunday Brunch following the boys' second excursion to Diagon Alley, she couldn't for the life of her understand the looks passing between the three of them. They looked simultaneously guilty, angry, and even queasy. It seemed like they were trying to pass on a responsibility from one to another, each shaking their heads and indicating with their eyes that someone else should take on the task.

No one else seemed to notice. As they sat at the table plowing through the normal breakfast fare, several conversations were taking place at once. Molly was admonishing Ginny for a short haircut she had spontaneously gotten the day before, a cut that Molly claimed made her look "less feminine." This was greeted by eye rolls from Ginny. Next to Ginny sat Percy, who was busy explaining the latest cauldron regulations to George… well, trying to explain. George kept getting distracted and Percy was losing his temper. They also had Bill and Fleur with them this morning, who sat next to each other cooing and feeding each other bites of food. Arthur floated between conversations, asking Percy questions, trying to keep Molly from jumping down Ginny's throat, and often clearing his throat loudly to remind Bill and Fleur that others were at the table and, indeed, trying to eat.

And among all of it, Harry, Ron, and Draco sat silent, having a detailed conversation with only their eyes and gestures. Hermione was pretending to listen to Percy (who was happy to at least have one seemingly-attentive audience member), but really trying to interpret what was going on between the three of them.

Just when she thought she was close to cracking the code, Molly stood up and asked Hermione to help her clear the table. She would have to wait until later and try to pry it out of Malfoy when they got home.

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As the plates were cleared and Molly took charge of the clean-up routine, Harry, Ron, and Draco snuck out to the back porch.

"You have to tell her, Draco," Harry insisted.

"Why does it have to come from me? _You're _her best friends! And you have wands to defend yourself when she goes nuts!" Draco protested.

"But you already told her you were suspicious – you've already started the conversation," argued Ron.

"Yeah, and then she didn't speak to me for almost a week. We're finally on good terms again!"

"She'll get over it, she always does," said Harry. "The bottom line is, she needs to know what we saw and it should come from you. Let's take a vote."

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing how this vote would end.

Ron and Harry both raised their hands and simultaneously pointed to Draco.

"2 against 1 mate, tough luck there," Ron said with a broad grin.

"Fine. I'll tell her when we get home. But if she hexes any appendages off it's up to you to find and reattach them."

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Hermione tried to resume her detective work during the post-brunch Quidditch sessions, but couldn't see anything from the ground and didn't dare board a broom. She had no hope of picking up anything from their expressions here, so she started to put together a plan to weasel it out of Draco when they got home.

She'd have to wait a while – let them settle in, relax, maybe start a conversation.

She'd have to bring it up naturally. She couldn't just ask him – she'd have to sort of hint her way to it. She practiced conversation starters in her head. _Was it just me, or were Harry and Ron acting sort of weird today?_ That wouldn't work – he would only use it as an excuse to talk about how weird he thought Harry and Ron were. _You were awful quiet at breakfast this morning. Is everything alright?_ That wouldn't work either – he'd just use it as an excuse to complain about how loud the Burrow was. She needed to be cleverer.

As they prepared to floo home an hour later, Hermione went over the plan she had created in her head. She'd lure Draco into a false sense of security – maybe with a movie or a board game. She'd definitely ply him with liquor – she had some firewhiskey that would do nicely. She would bring up the various conversations that took place at breakfast and ask Draco what he thought. When he admitted he hadn't been listening, she would ask what he had been talking about at breakfast. And if that didn't work, she would just try more firewhiskey.

Yup, it was a solid plan. She just needed to take her time, act casually, and slip in questions that would get him to admit what was going on.

She gripped Draco's arm and they floo'd back to her apartment. As soon as they stepped out of the fireplace, Hermione wheeled around to face him and shouted "What were you and Harry and Ron discussing with your eyes at breakfast this morning?!"

So much for her ingenious plan.

Still, she had to go with it.

Draco looked taken aback and instantly started shifting his eyes around the room, looking for an escape route. He took a step backward. Hermione stepped forward. He stepped backward twice. Hermione stepped forward twice.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he tried.

"You _clearly_ do. Just tell me."

He took another step backward and looked over his right shoulder. If he could just take two more steps back, he could bolt for his room.

Hermione immediately anticipated his exit strategy and moved to block him.

"It was just breakfast. We were eating – we weren't talking about anything in particular."

He actually sounded pretty convincing – damn that Slytherin cunning. She was still suspicious though, especially with how shifty he was acting.

"Just tell me."

"Maybe I don't want to tell you."

"So there _is_ something to tell me!"

"I never said that!"

This continued for several minutes, but eventually Hermione wore him down. Resignedly, Draco collapsed onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. Hermione sat in the chair next to him, eager to hear this big secret.

Draco took a deep breath before beginning.

"I didn't want to tell you this, because I know you won't believe me, and we were finally on good terms again after last week."

Now Hermione started to get a bit worried.

"On Saturday, when Harry, Ron, and I were at Diagon Alley, we saw Matt there."

He paused here, and Hermione looked up, confused.

"Matt was on a mission – he was out of the country," she argued.

"Well we definitely saw him there. And that's not it. He was at a café table with Michael Corner and that Lockhart guy – Gideon? Anyway, they were sitting together and it looked like they were… working together."

"That's ridiculous!"

Draco threw his hands up in the air.

"And this is why I didn't want to tell you! I knew you'd react this way!"

Hermione took a breath to calm herself.

"Ok, I won't take this out on you," she began. "And you were right to tell me. This doesn't necessarily mean he's in cahoots with them, though."

"But think about it, Hermione. How has Rita Skeeter been getting all of her information? Matt is always around and he hears a lot."

"But she can turn herself into a freaking beetle!" Hermione insisted. "Matt doesn't have anything to do with that!"

"Look, I'm not going to fight with you about this," Draco declared. "I saw what I saw, Harry and Ron insisted I tell you, so I told you. Done and done."

With that, he picked up the remote and turned on Jeopardy.

Hermione wasn't sure what to think. She wanted to be mad at Draco for being suspicious, but she was starting to get a bit suspicious herself. After that conversation with Neville… well, it would probably at least be worth investigating.

But she would hate it SO MUCH if he was right.

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Hermione didn't have to wait long to act on her suspicious. She and Matt were scheduled to grab dinner together on Monday night and, after escorting Draco home after work, she floo'd to Diagon Alley and walked to the restaurant where she was to meet her date.

Her sense of unease completely dissipated when she saw Matt waiting for her outside the restaurant, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. She felt her heart flutter and realized a huge smile now graced her face as well. He offered her his arm and she took it, almost forgetting her earlier worries.

Dinner was lovely. Matt regaled her with stories of his heroic feats (and the piles of paperwork that made up the far-less-exciting portion of auror training). Hermione told him about the latest catastrophe in the ministry – some idiot in human resources had placed Seamus in a department dealing with muggle artifacts and he had recently discovered fireworks. The two laughed and smiled, genuinely enjoying each other's company.

When they were halfway through dessert, however, Hermione remembered her earlier concerns. She cautiously brought them up.

"Matt, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Hermione," he responded with a smile.

"Where were you on Saturday?"

"I was on a mission, like I told you." He still wore his smile, but it looked a little more forced now.

Hermione paused.

"Ok, I'm just going to be honest here and not beat around the bush. The boys saw you in Diagon Alley on Saturday in a café with Michael Corner and Gideon Lockhart and they think that you're in cahoots with them or something ridiculous." She braced herself for his reaction.

The smile fell from Matt's face. He looked down at his hands, which were now folded on the table.

"I didn't want to tell you this, because I know you have enough on your plate."

Hermione felt her stomach knot up and her worry level grew.

"For the past few weeks, Corner and Lockhart have been trying to get me to meet with them. At first I ignored them and then I kept putting them off, but they wouldn't stop contacting me. I know you don't like either of them, so I wanted to avoid them, but last week I just gave up. I decided to meet with them on Saturday just to find out what they wanted."

"So you weren't on a mission?"

"No, I had to lie to you about that. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to worry about what I was really doing." His apology was genuine, but Hermione still felt betrayed.

"So what did they want?"

"They were pestering me for information about you – they wanted to know what your plans were for the trial, what progress Draco had made, and other stuff like that. I didn't tell them anything though! I told them I would never betray you like that. After an hour or so of badgering me, they finally let me go. Apparently they got the message, because they haven't contacted me since."

Hermione considered this. His story sounded completely plausible. She felt relieved and, as her worries decreased, her excited butterflies returned. She reached out and covered his hands with one of hers. She looked him in the eye and smiled.

"I believe you. Thanks for explaining everything and I'm sorry that you got dragged into all of this."

"Don't worry about it – I'm actually glad to get it off my chest."

"Oh, and please don't be mad at the boys – they were only trying to protect me."

"Of course! I would have done the same thing."

With that off the table, Hermione reached out with her fork and speared the last raspberry from their slice of cheesecake. Matt smiled and grabbed a bite himself.

After dessert, Matt and Hermione walked through Diagon Alley at a leisurely pace, enjoying each other's company and the warm night. He walked her to her building and kissed her goodnight at the front door. It was getting more and more difficult to separate after these dates. Hermione couldn't leave Draco alone overnight (ministry rules) and both had decided it would be uncomfortable for everyone if Matt spent the night there. It was getting harder for Hermione to keep to her own rules, however.

But tonight, she kissed him goodbye and walked up the stairs to her flat. When she opened the door, she found Draco waiting eagerly in her living room, perched on the couch.

"So what happened? Did you kick him to the curb? Did you throw a drink in his face?"

Hermione rolled his eyes.

"If you must know, he had a perfectly rational explanation for what you saw." She told him Matt's story, but Draco just stared at her incredulously.

"You can't honestly believe him."

"He has given me no reason not to trust him."

"Aside from getting caught meeting with two of your sworn enemies!"

"I don't have 'sworn enemies,' Draco – stop acting dramatic. And he explained the meeting!"

"Oh, yes, he was 'badgered for information?' That's not what it looked like to me!" Draco shouted.

"Well clearly you were wrong." He was starting to make her angry and she felt her face turning red.

"I just can't believe you're so blind! Smartest witch of our age my ass!"

Perhaps it was his insult, or perhaps it was his cursing, or perhaps it was his pointing out exactly what she was afraid of, but whatever it was, it had her seeing red.

"That's _it_ Malfoy!" She withdrew her wand and Draco backed up with his hands up.

"Oh, we're introducing corporal punishment for stating our minds now? Good to know." Before Hermione could send a curse his way, he backed up and retreated to his bedroom. He voiced his displeasure, however, with a loud door slam.

It looked like this week was going to go much the same as the week before – with neither of them talking to the other.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

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A/N: This chapter's a big one! I'm excited for everyone to read it! Also, I received some feedback on my last chapter that I was portraying Hermione as stupid for trusting Matt. This is a valid criticism and, to be honest, was something I was afraid of as I wrote that last chapter. I had hoped not to portray her as stupid, but instead as a little naïve and a little too trusting. She's only 19 (well 18 or 19 - her birthday is in September, which is when these chapters take place, so it's a little ambiguous, but you get the picture) and this is her first real relationship - even the smartest girl can get swept away. Plus, Matt was really a gentleman to her for months and she really cared for him - which makes it extra hard to suddenly turn against him. I think it would have been more out of character for her to suddenly believe Draco's suspicions and kick Matt to the curb. And she is already suspicious, despite how much she wants to trust Matt. All of these emotions - her feeling stupid, etc., will be covered in the next chapter (14), so hopefully that leaves you more satisfied. Thank you for the feedback!

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And as always, I own nothing HP-related.

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Although Hermione loved many aspects of muggle life and fully appreciated the culture and practices of her family and muggle friends, there were times when living in the wizarding world completely and totally rocked.

And flu shots were one of those times. A few years ago, one of the chiefs of staff at St. Mungo's had introduced a flu potion – it had all of the effects of a flu shot, but without the terrifying needle. So now, every September, while muggles anxiously stood in lines in front of their favorite pharmacies, wizards and witches were issued a small dose of a potion that greatly reduced their chances of getting sick that winter. St. Mungo's even offered them for free, having learned that it would actually save them money in the long run with less patients to take care of.

This year, Draco had been put in charge of the flu potion. He was excited for the opportunity, hoping that it would contribute to his good-name campaign and maybe pitch a few votes in his favor at the final trial. Over the past few months he had proven a valuable asset to the Potions Department, contributing not only to basic potion stocks, but also developing the liquefied invisibility potion with Harry Potter (although it was still being tested), an obliviation potion, and an advanced form of skele-gro that worked in half the time.

Draco would have completed the flu potions easily weeks ago had it not been for a distracting new presence in his lab: Neville Longbottom. Like Harry, Neville also had to complete a potions internship in order to proceed with his auror training. Unlike Harry, he was an absolute disaster.

At first, Neville's incompetence had been hilarious for Draco. He had watched as Neville mixed up unicorn and veela hair, resulting in his third cauldron explosion of the morning. Neville was excellent at identifying all of his plant ingredients, but even when he followed a recipe perfectly, his potions never quite turned out properly.

He couldn't even count correctly – several times Dean had to return to the lab to tell him that he had only submitted 11 bottles instead of his required 12. Draco's eyes were getting tired from all the rolling they were doing.

It had all been quite funny until Neville's struggles had begun to affect Draco's own work, particularly on the flu potion. Neville's frequent cauldron explosions resulted in several batches that Draco had to throw away because they were contaminated. Several times he slipped and accidentally dropped ingredients into Draco's cauldron (and once Draco swore he did it on purpose). It took Draco twice as long as anticipated to complete the flu potions, but fortunately he made it just in time. He put a stopper in his last bottle and added it to the final tray for Dean to pick up later.

"Ready for lunch, Neville?" Since Hermione hadn't been talking to him all week, he had been forced to eat with Longbottom. A couple of times Harry and Ron had joined them, which had made it more bearable. At the thought of being happy to see Harry and Ron, Draco shook his head in disbelief. This stupid experiment of Hermione's might just have been working.

Neville put a stopper in his latest…creation and added it to his own tray. Draco scooted his a little bit farther away.

The pair hung up their lab coats and headed to lunch. On the way down the hall, they passed Dean heading toward the lab. Draco was happy he had finished that last batch – Dean was there earlier than he had expected.

He was happy to see Harry, Ron, and Seamus when they reached the Ministry cafeteria. His mood soured slightly when he noticed Hermione at a neighboring table, consciously turning her back to him and avoiding eye contact, but when he saw that the special was meatball subs, his smile quickly returned.

A little over an hour later, his stomach filled with bread, cheese, and meatballs, he and Neville headed back to the lab. On the way, Draco passed several Ministry workers distributing his flu potion to various departments. It made him feel proud to know that he was responsible for every vial and it definitely added a dash of swagger to his step.

He whistled as he put his lab coat back on and began to assemble ingredients for his afternoon assignment. With a grin on his face, he set to work, sure that nothing could kill his good mood.

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Down the hallway, in a dark alcove hidden from sight stood a man who was also sporting a grin on his face and who had also recently added a dash of swagger to his step. He knew that he should leave now to ensure his safety, but he couldn't help but remain where he was.

He had worked for months for this moment and couldn't leave without witnessing the fruits of his labors, even if it meant risking his own safety.

His grin grew larger. He decided to creep up to the Atrium, where he would be at the best vantage point to witness what he had accomplished. _It wouldn't be long now_.

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Hermione sat at her desk facing a very difficult decision. She desperately wanted to drink the small vial of flu potion that a Ministry aide had handed her fifteen minutes ago. Just one sip would ensure a winter free of sniffles, sore throats, and achy muscles. She would save a fortune in cough drops and tissues. She wouldn't be forced to miss a single day of work.

But Draco had made this little vial of potion and she knew that if she drank it, he would remind her all winter that it was he who had prevented her illness. She couldn't bear the thought of owing him gratitude for anything, especially considering how angry she currently was with him.

So now she sat, her chin in her hands, staring at this tiny vial – the answer to all of her problems, but a new problem in itself. As she sat, contemplating this difficult choice, she heard a strange noise coming from out in the hallway. It sounded like someone was throwing up… but more so. Like many, many people were throwing up.

She quickly got up and ran out her door to the hallway. What greeted her was absolute and complete pandemonium. As far as she could see in both directions of her hallway, she found wizards and witches throwing up, fainting, and clutching at their stomachs.

Panicking, she ran to get some help, but was greeted by the same scene everywhere she looked. Occasionally she'd find someone who wasn't ill and they joined her in seeking aid. Finally they pushed their way to the Atrium of the Ministry, where Hermione walked into the most chaotic scene she had encountered since the Battle of Hogwarts. Everywhere, wizards and witches stumbled around, clutching their stomachs and throwing up. It was completely unreal. Quickly those who were still healthy congregated in the center of the Atrium by the fountain to make a plan. Hermione surveyed their numbers. She was happy to see Harry, but noticed Ron was not with him. She also had Dean and Kingsley, who apparently had been meeting together when the chaos struck, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, and a few other men and women she didn't know. Finally, she saw Draco and Neville running to meet them, panic stretched across their faces.

"What's causing this?!" Seamus screamed above the noise.

"I don't know – is it something in the air?" Hannah suggested.

"No, otherwise we'd be down too!" screamed a tall man with a grizzled beard.

The others shouted out suggestions, but Hermione stood still in thought. What could have reached so many so quickly? And why was she among the spared? Immediately her thoughts turned to the little vial sitting on her desk. She quickly interrupted the conversation taking place.

"Wait – did you take your flu potion?"

"No," Harry began, "I was waiting until I got home and brought Ginny hers."

"No," answered Dean and Kingsley, "We were going to at the end of our meeting."

Quickly the others confirmed that they too had waited to drink their potion and the truth set in. All eyes turned to Draco.

"Don't look at me! I made it perfectly! Longbottom watched me!" Draco shouted defensively.

"Oh really? Then why haven't you taken any?" demanded an older witch suspiciously.

Instantly, Neville took his side. "I watched him every day! It was perfectly made!"

Voices rose to accuse and defend, but Kingsley's voice reached above the noise.

"We'll discuss what caused this later! Right now, we need to figure out what to do!"

They immediately set up duties. Fortunately, they quickly realized that the potion had not yet been distributed outside of the Ministry, so they only had to worry about containing and fixing the situation. Hannah and Ernie raced to the floos to head to St. Mungos and collect help. Several others began examining the sick, searching for anyone who could help and triaging those who were in the worst condition. Kingsley closed all exit points, just in case the virus was contagious. Aid from St. Mungos would be allowed to enter, but no one would be able to leave.

Draco, Harry, and Neville raced back to the lab to try to figure out what had happened with the potions and to quickly put together some sort of antidote if possible.

Hermione, Kingsley, and a few others ran to other sections of the Ministry to try to gather everyone into the Atrium, splitting up when they reached the elevators to head to their assigned floors.

Hermione ran through the halls, shepherding sick witches and wizards to the elevators. Fortunately, it looked like illness was the only consequence; everyone she encountered was still alive. When she had cleared her assigned floors, she raced back to the Atrium to help the healers.

She was happy to see an entire force from St. Mungo's, as well as a fully implemented triage center upon her return. She quickly volunteered her services and began distributing potions to combat nausea and pain. They seemed to have little effect on the patients, however.

About thirty minutes later, she looked over her shoulder to find the boys running up from the potions lab, their arms clutching vials of a light green liquid.

"We searched the store cabinet and noticed that several jars of pufferfish scales were missing." Harry explained, breathlessly.

"But those are poisonous!" Hermione replied.

"If you have enough," Draco countered, "But if you only have a bit-"

Hermione quickly interrupted "It just makes you violently ill."

They locked eyes and realized that they were speaking for the first time in almost a week. Now was no time for stupid fights, however.

"But luckily Draco knew a quick recipe for an antidote, so we immediately got to work," Neville explained.

"We have more brewing. Let's distribute this." Draco rushed forward with his potions, quickly giving them to the St. Mungo's staff members. Harry and Neville followed suit.

Hermione crossed her fingers, but the results were instantaneous. After a few sips of the potion, the ill witch or wizard quickly regained their composure. The color returned to their faces and they stopped clutching their stomachs and throwing up. After distributing the antidote, the boys returned to the lab with a few other assistants to make as much of it as they could.

Hermione looked around. The scene was still chaotic, but this time her friends and colleagues were quickly regaining their health, rather than rushing to wastebaskets. She just hoped that the effects of Draco's healing potion lasted. Hermione wiped her brow with the back of her wrist, took a deep breath, and got back to work. The antidote was promising, but they still had a long night ahead of them.

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Across the Atrium, hidden behind a tapestry of previous leaders of the Wizengamot stood the man responsible for the chaos. He had been enjoying the show up until this point, but what he saw now made his blood boil. He cursed under his breath as a dozen witches and wizards recovered from their ailments and narrowed his eyes when he realized what – and who – was foiling his plan.

He quickly realized that he needed to get out of there – and fast. He eyed the floos, wondering if he could make it to them unseen, but his eyes grew as wide as saucers when he saw the gates in front of them.

_They've sealed off the floo network! There's no way out!_

He would have to get creative if he hoped to escape alive and blameless. He also remembered the unbreakable vow he had taken to protect the identities of his co-conspirators if anything went awry. He had to prepare for that as well. His first priority was to get out of the Ministry, but if that proved impossible, he knew what he had to do.

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It took several more hours for them to set the entire Ministry to rights. All of the afflicted had to remain in the Atrium for a while longer, resting and being monitored by staff from St. Mungo's. Kingsley had also implemented this measure to ensure that the culprit, if still in the Ministry, could not escape before they determined what had happened. He knew they had to act quickly, though; soon, people would start to get antsy and he would have to re-open the floo network and let them leave.

Hermione was completely exhausted by the time she stumbled into Kingsley's office with Draco, Harry, Neville, and Dean. Ron was still recovering. Apparently he had not only taken his own flu potion, but had also taken three more as "extra precautions." He would now be out of work for a few days, nursing a bottle of light green antidote and thinking seriously about his life choices.

Kingsley had asked them all to meet in his office so they could try to figure out what had happened to the original flu potions. They were all exhausted, but knew that they needed to figure out who had done this before someone at the _Prophet_ made up their own explanation or, heaven forbid, the culprit struck again.

Quickly they reviewed what they knew. Draco again recounted how much attention he had paid to the potion. Neville supported his statements and Harry vouched for his integrity.

"And I just finished the last batch this morning," Draco explained, "Minutes before Dean stopped by for them."

"Well I have to be honest," Kingsley began. "This doesn't look great for you, Mr. Malfoy. Thanks to the columns of Miss Rita Skeeter, the entire wizarding world knows of your job in the Potions Department. When word of this debacle gets out, I have a feeling that all will place the blame directly on your shoulders."

Draco grimly met his gaze and nodded to show he understood. If they didn't find the real culprit behind this, all of their efforts for the trial would go out the window. He could be in Azkaban by tomorrow night.

Kingsley began to ask about the missing pufferfish scales, but suddenly Dean spoke up.

"Wait," he began, "How do you know when I stopped by for the potion?"

"Because we met you in the hallway," explained Neville.

Dean looked confused. "What? What time was this?"

"We were on our way to lunch – what time was that, Draco? About 1:00?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, maybe 12:50… definitely around there." Draco responded.

Now Kingsley joined Dean in his confusion.

"Dean was with me – we were in this office from noon to 1:30, when we took a break so Dean could distribute the flu potions," the Minister explained.

"Yes, and then at 1:30 I went down to the lab, collected all of the potions on a handcart, and sent them to Ministry aides to be distributed," Dean explained.

Now they all sat in confusion.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Hermione began, "We don't have video surveillance cameras down near the Potions labs, do we?"

Most of the room stared at Hermione with puzzled expressions. Quickly, she realized the answer to her own question.

"No, I guess not."

"But we might have something just as comparable," Harry quickly volunteered.

Without saying a word, he raced from the room and down the hall. After a second, everyone else followed him. He ran down to the hallway with the Potions Department, but instead of running to the lab, he approached a large picture frame.

Inside the frame sat Ernesto Willoughby, a legendary potioneer of the sixteenth century. His hair was frazzled and he wore a patch over his left eye – the result of an experiment gone awry. Draco had learned to avoid the portrait over the last several months, as its occupant always wished to offer him particularly terrible advice when it came to potion-brewing. Now, however, he knew a lot was riding on his one good eye – maybe even his freedom.

"Ernesto," Kingsley began, but he was quickly interrupted.

"That's Professor Emeritus Willoughby to you, young hooligan!" Ernesto replied indignantly.

Kingsley began again. "Professor Emeritus Willoughby, would you mind if we asked you a few questions?"

"Certainly, good sir!" Ernesto replied, happy to be of use, and to finally have someone eager to listen to him.

"Earlier today, did you see these two," he indicated Draco and Neville, "leave this lab around 12:50 for lunch?"

"Why yes I did! I tried to offer young Master Malfoy here a few tips, but he didn't seem to hear me." He narrowed his eyes at Draco, who faked innocence.

"Did they happen to meet anyone along the way?"

Ernesto thought for a moment, stroking his beard.

"Why yes, they met that young man there," Ernesto responded, indicating Dean.

Dean went to protest, but Ernesto continued.

"But then something rather curious happened, now that I think about it." He scratched his head. Noticing that his audience was held in rapt attention, he took a moment to preen before continuing.

"Yes, that young man entered the lab, but he did not leave it. Another man did a few minutes later. _Then_, about a half hour later, this young man came walking by again! My goodness! I thought I was suffering from some pretty serious dejavu!"

Now the group stared at him, their mouths agape.

"Wait," Harry began, "You saw Dean enter, but not leave? And another man left? And then Dean came walking by again, without ever exiting the lab? Which man left the lab after Dean entered the first time? Who was he?"

Ernesto shook his head. "That I could not tell you, Mr. Potter."

Suddenly Neville came to life. "That missing vial of polyjuice potion! Dean, remember last week? You told me I only left 11 vials on my tray, but I knew there were 12!"

Now everyone started to put the pieces together.

"We must figure out who this man was!" Dean practically shouted.

"Ernesto, can you describe him in any way?" asked Hermione.

"Well he was tall, but not extremely so. Brown hair, a somewhat stern face, yet sort of friendly. In good shape, but not overly muscular," he responded vaguely.

The group rolled their eyes.

"Great," Draco answered sarcastically, "That's terrifically helpful."

They had almost lost hope when Ernesto said something else that caught them completely by surprise.

"But I have seen him before, often in the company of this young lady here," he stated, indicating Hermione.

Hermione thought for a moment. Who had accompanied her to the lab?

"And it wasn't Harry? Or Dean? Or Ron? No, you would know Ron."

"Why yes, Miss Granger, I can spot a Weasley a mile away. No, this man definitely had brown hair and far fewer freckles. You seemed quite friendly with him last week."

There was only one man that met Ernesto's description. Only one tall, brown-haired man whom Hermione had acted friendly with over the last few weeks, whom she had brought down to this hallway, whom she had taken to her home via the floo network established for her to escort Draco.

Foiled by Neville's faulty polyjuice potion that hadn't lasted nearly as long as he had expected, he had been caught by a portrait of a man with one eye.

In the pit of her stomach, Hermione knew she was right, but hoped she was wrong. She quickly dug through her bag to find her wallet and retrieved the photograph they had taken together just two weeks prior.

She held the photograph up with a trembling hand.

"Is this the man you saw today, Ernesto?"

"Why yes, that's him!" Ernesto clapped in celebration.

As Hermione met the eyes of the friends who had tried to warn her, she saw only red. Matthew was a dead man.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

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A/N: I hit 50 reviews the other day! Totally crazy! Thanks to each of you - I love getting feedback and hearing that people are genuinely interested in my story. The next chapter will be a little delayed because I'm still figuring out the details for the next few chapters - I have the arc, but need to fill in some holes and reconsider a few things. I'll post it as soon as I can! Thanks for reading!

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As soon as Ernesto identified Matt as the culprit, everyone sprang into action – everyone, that is, except Hermione, who continued to stand in the hallway, her eyes filled with rage and pain as she stared at the photograph in her hand.

Kingsley immediately sent patronuses to guards to ensure that all exit points remained blocked and monitored. Neville, Harry, and Dean ran to start searching for Matt and to round up other aurors to join them. Draco hesitated. He wanted to join in the search effort, but as he noticed that Hermione remained frozen in front of Ernesto's portrait, he started to get worried about her.

"Hermione?" He called, but got no response.

He moved to comfort her, stretching out an arm, but as the motion caught her eye, her head snapped up. Instantly, he saw the emotion disappear from her face. He saw before him not the woman who had just learned that the man she had been falling in love with had used and betrayed her, but instead the woman who had stared down the worst evil the wizarding world had ever known, the woman who had risked her life to aid her friend, and the woman who had withstood his own teasing and tormenting for seven years. The warrior was back.

She stuffed the photograph back into her purse, clenched her fists, and marched down the hallway, barking orders as she went. Draco trailed after her, trying to keep up and help as best he could.

"Block off all entrances and exits to the Department of Mysteries!" Hermione shouted. "If he gets in there, we'll be searching for him for days. If he's already in there, well we might as well keep him there for a while. Collect all polyjuice potion and invisibility cloaks – make sure all are accounted for! Gather all of the portrait subjects and question them about a single man sneaking away – we've all been traveling primarily in groups today so a single man might stick out! And," here she reached into her bag and handed the photograph to a frazzled Ministry aid, "Make as many copies of this photograph as you can and distribute them to everyone here, asking if they have seen this man!"

Draco stared, impressed. When Hermione wheeled around and shot him a look that clearly said _why are you standing there doing nothing?!_, he headed down to the Potions Department to assist with collecting and taking inventory of all of the polyjuice potion.

What greeted him was a total and complete mess. Clearly someone had been here recently – he had only left the lab about twenty minutes ago. He grabbed a mop, but his stomach lurched as he realized the cause of the mess – hundreds of smashed bottles of veritaserum. Scanning the room, he realized that everything else remained untouched. Draco quickly put the pieces together and realized what had happened. He went to send a patronus, but remembered he didn't have a wand. He raced out of the lab and down the hallway. He found Harry after a few moments and breathlessly explained everything.

"All of the veritaserum is smashed! Destroyed!"

"We'll deal with it later Draco. Right now we have to-" Suddenly Harry's eyes widened as he realized what Draco was telling him.

Harry sent quick patronuses to Kingsley, Hermione, Dean, and Neville and they all raced to Kingsley's office, Harry's chosen meeting place.

"Are all of the exits sealed?!" Harry shouted as soon as he saw Kingsley.

"Yes – all. What is going on? We've begun sending messages to other wizarding institutions telling them to keep an eye out for Matt and we have aurors combing the streets."

"No need, he's here," Draco asserted.

"What? How do you know?" asked Dean.

"I went to the Potions lab to gather all of the polyjuice potion, but when I got there, I found a total mess – all of the veritaserum has been destroyed!"

It took a few seconds for everyone to understand what he was saying, but they quickly realized what had happened.

"Matt must not have gotten out before we sealed the exits! He knew he would be caught and interrogated, so he destroyed the veritaserum!" Dean shouted.

"He probably couldn't take the floo network with all of us in the atrium and he wouldn't be able to use Draco's floo without Hermione," Harry added.

"But why didn't he just steal some polyjuice potion and sneak out while we were distracted?" Hermione asked.

"We were all in the lab brewing the antidote – he couldn't get in unseen. We didn't leave the lab until our meeting twenty minutes ago. Also, I didn't see any polyjuice potion in there." Draco explained.

Suddenly Neville perked up. "I just moved the entire supply to Dean's office yesterday – he asked me to bring him all that we had! I was going to replenish our stock this afternoon! I only got to make one vial before the chaos started."

All were silent for a moment, realizing what had happened.

"Where did you set it, Neville?" Draco asked quietly.

"Right on my table," Neville responded.

Draco remembered the empty surface and quickly confirmed their worst fears. Matt had that vial of polyjuice potion. He had used their meeting and their absence from the lab to steal the polyjuice potion and destroy the veritaserum, providing himself with a way out and protection even if he was caught. The group headed out to the atrium, where aurors had assembled everyone in the Ministry, using human-detecting charms to leave no corner unsearched.

They scanned the crowd for Matt, but did not see him.

"He must have already taken the polyjuice potion," groaned Neville.

Normally they would have had to pass out antidotes to counteract the polyjuice potion, but because this was Neville's batch, they only had to wait for ten minutes or so.

It was an awkward ten minutes. There were hundreds of people still at the Ministry, including those who had been sick earlier and the team from St. Mungos. They all stood huddled, staring shiftily at the people around them. Several nervously eyed copies of the photograph of Matt that had been distributed, sizing up those around them and comparing them to the image in their hands. Everyone was suddenly suspicious of friends, neighbors, and co-workers. A few tried to make small talk, but most stood silently, peering around for any sign of shifting appearances.

Suddenly, a woman screamed and pointed to an old, whiskered man standing near the elevators. Hermione and the men instantly moved toward the sound of the scream and all watched as the shrunken man suddenly grew a foot in height and seemed to go back in time sixty years.

Matt bolted for the elevator, but Kinglsey had stationed guards at each exit point and they quickly caught him, removed his wand, and magically bound him. The innocent bystanders were allowed to return home and Kingsley, Hermione, Draco, Harry, Dean, and Neville moved back to the conference room next to Kingsley's office, deciding it would be less crowded, especially with the addition of their prisoner and his two guards.

"Draco, did you say every bottle of veritaserum was smashed?" Harry asked.

"To be honest, I didn't inspect the scene too carefully. That's what it looked like, but he could have missed one or two," Draco responded.

Harry sent Neville down to check to see if any bottles were still usable.

After a few moments, however, he wasn't even sure if they would need it – Matt seemed to have no problem talking without it. Indeed, he sat confidently in his seat, boasting about his accomplishments. Gone was the polite, friendly façade he had maintained for months. Now all they saw was an arrogant, sinister, selfish man.

"I just can't believe you fell for all of it! You're supposed to be the 'smartest witch of your age,'" he bragged, chuckling at Hermione's naivety.

Draco turned to Hermione, expecting to find tears welling in her eyes. Instead, he found her sitting confidently, her eyes narrowed at the suspect in front of her. She showed no weakness.

"What was in it for you?" Harry asked. "What did you get out of this?"

"Let's just say that my services were greatly appreciated by some very wealthy, influential individuals. In other words, _mo-ney_," he said, dragging out the last two syllables.

"Who were you working for?" Dean asked.

Matt laughed. "Like I'm going to tell you that! Come on, let's not _continue_ our stupidity here."

"We saw you meeting with Gideon Lockhart and Michael Corner. Are they involved in this?" Harry asked.

"Do you have any evidence that that meeting took place?" Matt fired back. "You have nothing but the report of your own eyes. And even a report from the eyes of 'the chosen one' won't count as anything but circumstantial evidence."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Matt, but knew that he was right. He only hoped that there was veritaserum left and that they could get a true confession out of him.

When no more questions were forthcoming, Matt used the opportunity to continue to berate Hermione.

"To be honest, though, there were times where I wondered if it was even worth the money. I mean, the hours I spent listening to this broad? At least I got some good naps out of it."

Now he looked at Draco.

"And thank Merlin for this little twerp over here – if not for him I might have even had to sleep with this cow."

Draco rose to his feet, barely able to restrain himself. He immediately realized that he was not alone – Harry had also risen next to him. A look passed between them as they recognized that finally, for perhaps the first time, they were on the same side of a fight. Kingsley sent Harry, Draco, and Hermione from the room, realizing that if he let them all stay, Matt would most likely end up beat to a pulp within ten minutes – or maybe ten seconds.

The three stood leaning against the wall of the conference room, the boys unsure of what to say to Hermione. Both started to say something, stuttered out a few words, and gave up.

They didn't have much time to brave a second attempt, however, because Neville quickly came running up the stairs, waving a tiny bottle.

A few feet away from them, he tripped over the hem of his robe and went sliding to the floor. The bottle came loose from his hand and soared through the air.

Hermione watched in slow motion, but breathed a sigh of relief when she watched Harry's hand close around it. Draco realized he was experiencing another first – the first time he was _happy_ Harry Potter had caught a flying object.

The foursome quickly returned to the conference room and Harry handed the bottle to Kingsley.

Draco hesitated in the doorway. Something didn't seem quite right. That little bottle of veritaserum, which had seemed so miraculous moments ago, now triggered suspicion in Draco's slytherin mind. Everything Matt had done so far had been so calculated, so perfect. He would have had twenty minutes or so in the Potions Lab while they met with Kingsley to discuss what had happened, before they put the pieces together and came after him. Surely that was enough time to be thorough – to make sure that every bottle of veritaserum was destroyed. He never would have expected him to be so negligent, unless...

He eyed the small bottle of potion as Kingsley tipped it into Matt's mouth and noticed with horror that rather than being perfectly clear, the potion was a very pale blue – almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

But Draco had a very trained eye when it came to potions.

Unfortunately, his realization came too late. As he screamed for Kingsley to stop, Matt swallowed the potion, leaning his head back and laughing maniacally.

"It's not veritaserum! It's the obliviation potion!" Draco shouted, running to the table.

As Matt's face went pale, Draco realized he was correct. They had moments – seconds even, before Matt forgot not only the events of today, but of his entire life. They had no hope now of discovering his co-conspirators, nor of exacting a confession that would clear Draco's name.

Just before his eyes went blank and his memory disappeared completely, he turned to Hermione and Draco and spoke his final terrifying words.

"You have made some powerful enemies, Miss Granger. And Draco? You really don't stand a chance."

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Draco lay in his bed, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. He had experienced one of the most exhausting days of his life, but he knew he had no chance of falling asleep anytime soon. Scenes replayed in his head – meeting the false Dean in the hallway on the way to lunch, the pandemonium in the Atrium, the moment of realization that Matt was behind everything, and the absolutely devastating moment when Matt's mind was erased.

They had all just stared at him after it happened, dumbfounded and defeated. After a moment or two, the new Matt looked up, completely confused.

"Where am I? Who are you? _Who am I?_"

The shock of the sudden obliviation was enough to send him immediately to St. Mungo's, and Draco didn't think he would be leaving there anytime soon.

They still weren't sure why he chose to obliviate himself, especially when money was his principal objective and this would essentially erase all he had worked for. They knew he was trying to protect his co-conspirators, however, and Kingsley suggested that since he did not appear to be motivated by any sort of passion or devotion to a cause, he had most likely made some sort of pact or unbreakable vow to protect his allies if anything went wrong.

At this point, Draco didn't really care why he did it – all he cared about was clearing his own name. No one knew what would happen the next day when the press launched their version of what had happened. Kingsley had vowed to defend him, but Draco knew that would only do so much. He would just have to wait and see – hence, his sleeplessness.

After another few minutes of counting sheep, he decided that his efforts were futile and headed to the kitchen to get a drink.

He noticed Hermione's bedroom door was open and knew that she was still awake; she always slept with her door closed. He found her on the terrace, staring into a mug of something that he assumed had originally been hot, but had grown cold long ago. She had forgone the chairs and instead sat on the cold cement floor, with her back against the brick wall of the flat.

He considered the juice in the fridge, the soda Hermione had finally broken down and purchased for him, and the tea that he knew would be the most appropriate choice for the situation.

But he passed it all up and grabbed the firewhiskey.

Hermione looked up as he joined her on the terrace, her eyes faintly bloodshot.

Wordlessly, he asked if she wanted a glass, holding one up and raising his eyebrows.

She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. Still, neither said a word.

Draco poured them both a small amount of the amber liquid – he knew that neither wanted to get drunk, but both just needed something to hold and occasionally sip. Something strong.

They sat next to each other on the terrace for a few moments, neither of them saying anything.

Finally, Hermione took a sip of her firewhiskey, set down her glass, and looked Draco in the eye.

"So let's have it then," she said.

Draco looked up confused. "What?"

"Let's hear it. I know you've just been dying to say 'I told you so.'"

In spite of how terrible the day had been, Draco felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You really think I came out here just to say 'I told you so?'"

"Well you're going to say it sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way now."

He could tell that she was sort of joking around, but still actually afraid that he was about to brag about being right.

He was silent for a minute.

"Well now you've just taken all of the fun out of it," he finally responded. "Not even worth saying now, I guess. Though I think we both know that I'll bring it up the next time you brag about being right about something," he told her with a chuckle.

She gave him a small smile, but Draco could tell that the day had worn on her. The brave, confident face she had worn all day was slowly slipping away.

"How could I have been so stupid, Draco? How could I have let him into my life? Told him so much about the trial? Ignored all of the red flags?"

"You weren't stupid," he told her, and couldn't believe he was saying it. "You just didn't see the side of him that I saw."

"But all I ever hear is how I'm the 'brightest witch of my age,' the 'cleverest witch Hogwarts has seen in a century'-"

"Oh _poooor baby_," Draco interrupted.

Hermione narrowed his eyes at him and continued. "But I couldn't even see through a creep like him? I just can't believe it."

"We all make mistakes," he told her – and again he couldn't believe that he was comforting her. For weeks he had wanted to shout at her for believing Matt – had wanted to call her stupid and naïve. And here he was contradicting those very terms when she tried to apply them herself.

"That doesn't make them any easier to swallow."

"Well you do the only thing you can – you learn from it and you move on. Matt was a con artist – but a very good one. He was very persuasive. Don't beat yourself up – he had almost everyone convinced that he was a great guy. Potter even set you up with him, for Merlin's sake."

"Everyone but you," she responded.

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "There's a reason you're a Gryffindor and I'm a Slytherin."

They were quiet again for a few minutes before Hermione spoke up, issuing another confession.

"You know what I regret the most though? What I'm the most sorry and the most ashamed about?"

Draco shook his head.

"I regret not trusting you," she told him honestly. "I feel like we've come so far in the past few months and I really do consider you a friend-" she paused, considering the word. It tasted foreign in her mouth when spoken to the young man she had sworn to hate for most of her life.

"A friend," she stated again, more confidently this time. "And I'm sorry that I didn't believe you."

Draco took in her words. He hated the thought that she hadn't trusted him.

"Although," she began again, and his interest peaked. "If I'm being completely honest here, and why not at this point, considering all we've been through today, I did start to believe you toward the end. I even asked Neville about the intercontinental portkeys and I was being more careful about what I talked about around him."

Draco gave her a small smile. "Look at that! Who would have thought we'd see a day where Hermione Granger would start to trust Draco Malfoy?"

She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Who would have thought we'd see a day where I would call you a friend?"

Now they shared a genuine smile. It seemed weeks, months, maybe even years since that morning when they weren't speaking to each other.

Draco stared out at the city, most of the buildings dark, although a few lights lingered on. He thought about the muggle world – how nothing that had happened today would reach them. He wondered how he would be received in the muggle world. No one there knew his past, his heritage. The name "Draco Malfoy" meant nothing to them. And for the first time in his life, he wanted to live among the muggles.

As his thoughts wandered, he noticed a pressure on his shoulder and turned to find Hermione's head settled there. Carefully he examined her – she was clearly completely asleep. He thought about moving her head, but decided to keep it there.

He thought back on the words they had shared tonight – words of trust and of friendship. He was happy to have reached this point with Hermione where they truly trusted each other and considered themselves friends. A new thought entered his mind though – a dangerous one.

What if friendship wasn't enough?

He glanced at the head on his shoulder and realized he already knew the answer. He had known it for a long time, if he was being completely honest – and as Hermione had said, this was a night for honesty.

With Hermione Granger, friendship would never be enough.

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A/N: I'm SUCH A TEASE, I know. But more romance is coming! What's a good love story without a little build-up? Think When Harry Met Sally (although, when I watch that movie, I always insist that it would be a lot better if they just got together at the very beginning. I'm very impatient.). Next chapter will be up as soon as I can post it!


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

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A/N: I've been told that I'm too wordy in my author's notes - GUILTY AS CHARGED. I'm sort of undecided about this chapter - I like it, but I'm looking forward to the next one more - it will have a lot more flirty action. Sorry for the delays - a combination of writer's block and the fact that my wedding is a month away and I still have A TON OF PLANNING TO DO and, you know, have to MOVE. So anyway, I'll write when I get the chance and I'll definitely increase the flirtation in the next chapter. Also I own nothing from the Harry Potter world!

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Also, can we have three cheers for Matt finally being gone? Hip Hip Hooray! Xoxo-Wing

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Hermione woke up with a painful crick in her back and a very sore neck. It took her a few moments to realize where she was. She figured out pretty quickly that she was outside. Judging by the pale light gracing the sky, she guessed it was early in the morning. She was on the terrace and had fallen asleep on the hard cement floor, her back against the brick. Well, it should have been against the brick, but there was something between her and the wall – an arm. She suddenly realized that she had fallen asleep on Draco's shoulder and he had somehow draped an arm around her back as they were sleeping.

This realization gave her pause. _She had fallen asleep with her head on Draco's shoulder._ Well they were friends now, right? And this was something friends did. Friends fell asleep with their heads on each other's shoulders. _Draco put his arm around her while she was sleeping._ Also a friendly gesture. Friends often put their arms around each other… while sleeping… with heads on shoulders. Yes, friends often consoled each other after tough days, and that was just what she and Draco had done. There was nothing more to it.

Or was there?

Tentatively, she nestled her head back into his shoulder. She felt so comfortable here – so warm and safe and… at home somehow. She could smell his shirt – a combination of the laundry soap they shared and his own masculine scent. She could hear his steady breathing, could almost feel his heartbeat. She closed her eyes and just allowed herself to have a moment, nestled next to the man she had considered an enemy for most of her life. A man who was now her friend. A man who she was quickly discovering she had much in common with, one who she enjoyed spending time with, one who could make her laugh so hard her stomach hurt one moment and so angry she saw red the next, one in whom she increasingly placed her trust, and one to whom she was quickly and scarily getting attached.

She felt his fingers gently move along her right hip and suddenly friendship was the farthest thing from her mind. His touch aroused an instinctual feeling she had never felt for a moment during her relationship with Matt – or with anyone else for that matter. As his fingers continued to graze her side, she bit her bottom lip, desperately trying to decide what these feelings meant and debating whether to move or to stay – to stop Draco or to let him continue.

Her brain told her to stop this – it could only lead to complications. He probably didn't even know he was doing it – he was asleep after all.

Her heart, on the other hand, wanted her to stay just where she was, to embrace the feelings she was experiencing, and to give whatever this was a chance to develop.

But Hermione Granger was always better at listening to her head rather than her heart.

After a few more seconds of the gentle caressing, she started to shift slightly, pretending like she had just woken up. As she started to stretch and squirm, she felt Draco wake up next to her. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, but when he did, he turned to face her with a groggy smile.

"Morning," he told her before letting out an enormous yawn and stretching his arms above his head. With the removal of his arm her back instantly felt cold and as he rose his absence made her feel incomplete somehow. He stood up and wandered inside, scratching the back of his neck.

Hermione watched him go for a moment before rising herself, stretching out her sore muscles, shaking her head to try to let go of the feelings and emotions swirling around in it, and heading inside for the only thing that could help her this morning: coffee, coffee, and probably more coffee.

She heard Draco lock the bathroom door and turn on the shower and cursed under her breath: she should have beaten him to the shower, because she'd get no hot water by the time he was done. There was probably a spell to fix that, but she was too exhausted to care at this point.

"Try to make it quick!" she shouted to him through the closed door.

"How about 30 minutes?" he responded. She rolled her eyes.

"I'll give you ten."

"29?"

"That's not really how bargaining works!"

"28?"

"Fifteen max!"

"Look Granger," he shouted through the bathroom door, "We can sit hear arguing about this all morning, but it's just going to waste the hot water. And one of us deserves a hot shower."

She rolled her eyes again, threw up her arms in defeat, and shouted "Fine! Just _try_ to hurry! No more than 20 minutes this time!"

"Sure thing – no more than 30 minutes!" he responded.

She gave up and returned to the kitchen, muttering under her breath about how she needed another bathroom.

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What Hermione did not know was that Draco had no intention of using up all of the hot water, because he was in need of a very cold shower.

When Hermione had woken him up on the terrace, she had interrupted a very lively dream. It was similar to dreams he often had, being a 19-year old, sexually-experience, devilishly handsome young man. He had been running his hands all over the body of a beautiful woman, enjoying her delicious curves and soft skin. He often had this dream with nameless, faceless women. Sometimes it would include a television star or a particularly attractive secretary he had met at the Ministry.

This time, however, the woman had been someone else…

And when he had awoken to find himself daringly close to said woman, with his arm draped around her back, his feelings of lust and need had only intensified.

He had played it cool for a minute, stretching and acting dopey, but had headed for the shower as quickly as he could.

And he turned up the cold water as far as it would go.

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While Draco was in the shower, Hermione headed into the kitchen to prepare the coffee pot. Once it started brewing, she looked down and suddenly realized she was still wearing her now-grungy and sweaty clothes from the day before and quickly went to her room to change.

As she threw her dirty clothes into a hamper and pulled on a fresh sweater and her favorite jeans, she caught sight of the framed photograph on her dresser of her and Matt on one of their dates a few weeks prior. Narrowing her eyes at it, she stomped over to the dresser and picked it up. She thought for a moment about what to do with it, before racing to her closet to grab an empty box with a devilish, slightly manic grin on her face. She threw the picture in the box and turned to survey the rest of her room. Quickly and purposefully, she marched around, gathering everything that had to with Matt and tossing it in the box. His favorite quidditch jersey he had leant her for the game they had attended together: BOX. The letters he had written her, with his stupid perfect handwriting that she somehow still found charming: BOX. Two other pictures they had taken together: BOX. Even the book he had recommended to her: BOX.

After emptying her room of anything Matt-related, she did the same thing throughout the apartment. The mug she had decorated when they painted pottery together: BOX. The movies they had purchased and watched together: BOX. The jacket he had accidentally left behind one evening: BOX.

By the time Draco got out of the shower and changed into fresh clothing, Hermione had rounded up everything Matt-related in the apartment and her box was full – almost overflowing.

"What are you going to do with all of that crap?" Draco asked, "Throw it away? Donate it somewhere? Ugh, look at me, suggesting you _donate it_. I've been hanging out with too many Gryffindors."

She rolled her eyes at that last comment, but a giant smile quickly graced her face. "Actually, I'm going to destroy it."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"Even the book?"

"Even the book."

Draco knew Hermione was serious – when books were being sacrificed, the woman was on a rampage.

Hermione looked around, considering her surroundings. Finally, she carried the box out to the terrace. Draco followed, curious of her plans.

She set about casting charms around the terrace – invisibility charms that would hide them from spectators, muffling charms to cancel all sound, and one Draco had never heard of, but it sounded like it had something to do with fire.

She set the box on the table, lifted her wand, and shouted with a confident and excited voice:

"Incendio!"

Instantly, the box burst into flames. Both Hermione and Draco watched as the remnants of Matt were removed from their lives – as his possessions and the symbols of his relationship with Hermione literally burned before their eyes.

For Hermione, it was therapeutic; for Draco, it was a celebration. He watched the display with a wolfish grin.

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After the burning of the box, Draco and Hermione returned to the kitchen, where they poured themselves mugs of the freshly-brewed coffee.

Just as Hermione took her first sip, she heard a slight tapping on her dining room window. She moved to the window and opened it, whereupon a dark brown owl flew into the room, landed on the back of one of her dining room chairs, and stuck out its leg, attached to which was her Saturday copy of _The Daily Prophet._ The owl was so professional it was almost comical, standing at full attention with its eyes looking directly forward, its left leg jutting out with the bulky newspaper attached to it.

She paid the owl for the paper and offered him a treat, which he only sneered at before flying professionally out the window.

She picked up the newspaper and looked across the room to Draco. He stood behind a chair, his hands clenched around the top of it. He was usually a tough one to read, but his nerves were definitely visible now.

Hermione took a deep breath before unrolling the paper. She knew that the front-page article would contain an account of the previous day's events at the Ministry and would likely contain Draco's fate.

She opened the paper and stared at the headline in disbelief. Her eyes shot up to Draco's and she heard him suddenly exhale the breath he had been unconsciously holding when he noticed the enormous grin gracing her face.

"Mayhem at the Ministry Mitigated by a Malfoy!" Hermione screamed the title of the article at Draco.

He bounded across the room and they read the article together aloud, each reading a few phrases or sentences before the other took over.

"Yesterday the wizarding world experienced one of its greatest potential catastrophes since the fall of You Know Who," Hermione began.

"But fortunately the day was saved by a quick thinking potioneer, that handsome young son of convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy." Draco continued.

They read on as the article described the chaos and the steps taken by "courageous volunteers" to set everything to rights. Kingsley had given an exclusive interview and told the whole story about who was really responsible, how they discovered the culprit, and Draco's role in the _solution_, not the _problem_.

When they finished, Hermione turned to Draco.

"I think you owe Kingsley an enormous thank you," she said.

"I think I owe him a muffin basket," Draco replied.

"Speaking of which, isn't it almost breakfast time?"

"Oh I see how it is – use me for my cooking prowess."

"Well I have nothing else to use you for."

They were back to bantering as usual, but it was a little different now than it used to be. They had always driven each other crazy, but what they didn't know was that they were increasingly growing crazy about each other.

Draco stepped forward and took the newspaper out of her hand and set it on the table. "What about my body?" he asked coyly.

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes, grateful that he couldn't hear how loudly and rapidly her heart was beating. He was close to her now – too close.

They were silent for a few seconds, their eye contact transforming from playful and teasing to suddenly serious.

She had never backed down from a threat before, but this was new territory for her. She took a step backward and looked over her shoulder.

"Well I better go take a shower – if you left me any hot water," she announced, trying to keep her tone light so Draco wouldn't see how nervous she was.

As she reached the bathroom door, she paused, turned around, and flashed him a coy smile – her flirtatious courage returning with distance. "And I expect a muffin when I get out."

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Later that day, the pair headed into Diagon Alley so Hermione could see the Halloween decorations – they were meeting Harry and Ginny there. Ron was still recovering. Halloween was the most popular holiday in the wizarding world, so shop keepers started putting up their decorations at the end of September. This had lately attracted grumbles and mutterings of "back in my day…" from some elderly witches and wizards who disapproved of the early start.

One plump witch with frazzled hair shook her fist at a pumpkin hanging over the door to Madam Malkin's Robe Shop.

In addition to the cobwebs, jack-o-lanters, and black cat decorations gracing the storefronts and streets, they also noticed a surge in the anti-Death Eater charm kiosks. This was especially discouraging. It also added even more pressure to Hermione's experiment. If this failed, if Draco lost his trial, fear would win. Innocent people would be targeted and punished for their upbringing and the choices of their parents.

_But no pressure or anything_, Hermione thought to herself.

As the foursome walked along, Draco couldn't help wondering exactly what this was. Were they all out as friends? Or was this some sort of double date? Harry was completely oblivious to anything going on, but Ginny kept dragging him away to leave Hermione and Draco alone.

Normally Hermione and Draco would have been fine alone together, but since the events of the past evening and that morning, both suddenly felt awkward and uncomfortable around the other.

Draco thought he sounded too loud every time he said something. Hermione refused to make eye contact with him and kept finding things to distract her.

Finally, Ginny insisted on taking Hermione to look at a new set of dress robes she had her eyes on and the boys headed (as usual) to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What is wrong with you?!" Ginny demanded as soon as she and Hermione were around the corner and out of sight of the boys.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione responded.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, Gin, I really don't. Is my shirt on backwards? Do I have something on my face?" Hermione immediately raced to the nearest window to make sure nothing was amiss.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Why are you making things so weird with you and Draco?" she asked finally.

Hermione turned back to the window, avoiding eye contact with the nosy redhead.

"I'm not making anything weird. I don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny turned her around to face her.

"You two are obviously into each other. You've gotten along great until now – what happened?"

Hermione explained falling asleep on his shoulder and waking up and experiencing… feelings. She told her about how their typical banter had suddenly turned flirtatious and intense this morning.

"So wait, you _do_ like him?" Ginny questioned, making sure she understood everything.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "I don't know! I mean, I hate him! I mean, I don't _hate_ him. But _like_ him? And like him in _that sense_?"

"Yes, Hermione – 'that sense' – the second year term for liking someone," Ginny responded, rolling her eyes again.

"I don't know, Gin," Hermione told her honestly. Normally Ginny would have pushed her for a more definitive answer, but she could tell that Hermione was telling the truth.

"Well I would advise you to figure it out soon," Ginny said as they walked into the robe shop.

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On Monday morning, Draco headed to Kingsley's office to thank him for sticking up for him. He nervously knocked on the door and Kingsley's loud voice welcomed him in. He entered and sat in a large chair. For a moment, he remembered the first time he was in this office – when he was told that he would have to live with Hermione for a year. Back then, he couldn't imagine spending even a day with her, but now he was having trouble imagining a day _without_ her. Shaking his head to regain his focus, he looked up at Kingsley.

"I just wanted to stop by and thank you so much for speaking to the press and sticking up for me. That really could have spelled disaster for me and I'm just so grateful that you went out on a limb for me." It was perhaps the first real, sincere expression of gratitude he'd ever given.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, it's me who should be thanking you. Without your quick thinking, I don't know if we could have figured out what was causing the illness or created an antidote – definitely not as quickly as we did." _This_ was perhaps the first real, sincere expression of gratitude he'd ever _received_.

He didn't really know how to respond. He gave an awkward shoulder shrug and mumbled "happy to help," before standing and shuffling to the door.

Once there, though, he paused in the doorframe, considering the request he had debated asking about for weeks now.

"Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Malfoy?" Kingsley asked.

Draco hesitated for a moment, but finally voiced his request.

"Is there any way that I could visit my parents in Azkaban?" He had started to feel homesick when he saw parents and students shopping at Diagon Alley at the beginning of the term and his homesickness had only increased through weekly trips to the family-filled Burrow and several more trips to Diagon Alley.

"I think that could be arranged," Kingsley responded after a moment. "I'll be in touch in a few weeks to give you more details."

"Thanks," Draco said, breathing a sigh of relief and flashing him a genuine smile.

He headed back to the Potions Lab with a spring in his step.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

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A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews! Sorry for the delay - wedding plans are kicking into high gear (3 weeks from tomorrow - AHHHH). The next few updates might be a little delayed as well - please bear with me! I promise fun things are coming! I thought I'd add some humor, because the last few chapters have been sort of serious and action-y, so this chapter should be a little fun. Enjoy and, as always, I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe.

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Also - To Witbeyond and everyone else with questions about the timeline - Draco moved in in March and it's now October - this chapter sort of spans the month of October. The trial will be the following March. Things are about to get more serious between our favorite couple and I have several fun moments planned for the last few months of their cohabitation. :-)

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During the week following the poisoning at the Ministry, Draco found his relationship with Hermione evolving in ways that he would never have admitted that he liked, but also that he couldn't deny he enjoyed. Their banter had returned and, with it, a new sense of closeness, camaraderie, and, dare he say it, _flirtation_.

They cooked dinner together, with Draco correcting Hermione's chopping techniques and generally micro-managing every element, while Hermione faked ignorance just to see the looks of exasperation on his face. She introduced him to scores of muggle movies that they watched together on the sofa, sometimes with her feet in his lap, other times with her head on his chest or shoulder and once, just once, with his arm around her.

They hadn't kissed yet, but Draco found himself wanting to kiss her more by the day. He was waiting for the perfect opportunity, but was also growing impatient.

He found himself thinking about her even when they were apart. Twice he became so distracted in the lab that he missed a step in his procedure and had to discard what he was working on. His dreams had become even more sensual and… let's just say Hermione hadn't had to worry about running out of hot water at all that week.

Now it was Friday night and the two were sitting on the couch, watching what Draco had groaningly labeled a "chic flick" – this one involving an enchanted cottage on a lake that allowed two people living years apart to communicate via a mailbox. Normally there would have been much eye rolling involved, and there still was a fair amount, but Draco's boredom with the movie was tempered by Hermione's head on his shoulder and her right hand tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

He turned to look down at her and smiled when he saw how invested she was in the movie. Her eyes were glued to the screen, tears welling in the corners ready to spill over when the movie reached its climax. _This could be it_, he thought, _the perfect moment_. Just as he built up the courage to put his arm around her, they were interrupted by the fire surging to life in the fireplace. Both jumped to their feet and quickly turned to face it. Ron's head swam in the flames.

"Mind if I pop over?" he asked.

"Sure!" Hermione quickly responded.

_Sure_, Draco thought, _you're not interrupting ANYTHING_.

A moment later, the lanky redhead stepped out of her fireplace, dragging behind him a bulging knapsack.

"So what's up, Ron?" Hermione asked, clearly confused by his sudden appearance and baggage.

"I've moved out!" Ron announced proudly.

"You've what?" Draco asked.

"I've moved out! Mum's been nagging me for weeks to get my own place, find a 'real job,' stop lazing around… anyhow I've done it! I packed up my things, grabbed a fistful of floo powder, and moved out!"

"Where are you living now?" Hermione asked hesitantly. She had been friends with him for almost eight years now, and could unfortunately see where this was going.

"Here of course!" he declared, dropping his knapsack onto the couch. Draco watched it land right where he and Hermione had been sitting less than a minute ago and groaned inwardly.

"Why here?" Hermione asked.

"Well I checked with Harry, but Ginny spends most nights at his place and I can't stomach the thought of sleeping in the same flat where my sister is…" he broke off before he could finish the sentence and all three shuddered at the thought.

"Well why can't you get your own place? I sort of think that's what Molly had in mind."

"I will! Soon. I just need to crash here while I figure stuff out. I'll just sleep in Draco's room." While Hermione and Draco watched him with their mouths agape, he flopped down onto the sofa, kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the coffee table, and grabbed the remote.

"Ugh, what's this crap you're watching? Draco, you'll be _so glad_ to have another guy around." Ron quickly switched to a sports station.

A month ago, Draco would have been thrilled for the additional male presence in the flat, but now… things had changed. He looked to Hermione and burst into laughter when he saw her fists clenched and the exasperated expression on her face.

She marched around the couch and stood in front of Ron. She planted her feet and took a deep, calming breath.

"Mione, could you move? You're blocking the telly."

"No, _Ronald_, I will not _move_. You are in _my flat!_" Her voice grew higher with each word and Draco unconsciously found himself taking a few steps backward, away from the fuming witch.

"And I'm trying to watch _your_ telly," Ron responded, clearly unaware that he was making the situation much, much worse.

"Do you have any _plans_? When will you find a place to live? What are you going to do for money?" she demanded impatiently.

"I'm going to be a professional Quidditch player! Honestly, Mione, do you ever listen? I've told you this at least a thousand times."

"A professional Quidditch player?"

"Yes, obviously. You've seen my skills as a keeper."

"Oh yes, when you think you've had some felix felicis you're right as rain! Or when I confund the competition!"

"Oh, now you go bringing that up!"

Draco watched the feuding duo with a small smirk.

"I just don't know if this plan is the most _realistic_ option." Hermione finally stated, taking a deep breath to regain some of her patience.

"Whatever, I'll figure it out tomorrow. Can I watch tv now? And do you have any chips?"

Hermione threw up her arms in frustration and marched to the kitchen. Draco heard her slamming cabinets open and closed as he sat down next to Ron.

If he was going to have to put up with a red-haired third wheel, he might as well watch football while doing it.

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Much to the surprise of no one, Ron did not find a job or a place to live the next day. Or the day after that. Or the week after that.

He did, however, make himself quite at home in Hermione's flat. Hermione and Draco arrived home from the Ministry each day to find Ron lounging on the sofa in his pajamas, a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and other belongings scattered throughout the apartment. Hermione was getting tired of pulling cereal boxes from the cabinet to discover that they were empty or nearly empty. Draco was getting tired of sharing his room with a very loud snorer.

It was clear that Ron had lived a privileged life at the Burrow and had no intention of changing any of his habits now. Hermione had taken to opening the _Daily Prophet_ to the "Help Wanted" section and leaving it on the coffee table, hoping he would stumble upon it and get inspired to finally get off his butt.

To no avail.

Ron showed no desire to move on anytime soon.

For Draco, the most annoying part of Ron's constant present was his incessant cock-blocking. He had grown used to living alone with Hermione, to having her undivided attention and time to spend together.

Now, he was lucky if he could get her alone for ten seconds. Ron was _everywhere_. He sat between them on the couch and ate every meal with them. He never left the flat and was growing clingy as he grew starved for attention and human interaction.

Draco tried several times to get Hermione alone, to have private conversations with her, but every time he thought he had finally found a golden opportunity, that damned redhead popped into view.

Yes, Ron was annoying Draco, but he was driving Hermione _crazy_.

Draco was merely annoyed by Ron's presence and irritated by his constant clinginess. Hermione was all of that, but also deeply concerned and worried about his wellbeing and future.

She had always been the most responsible of the Golden Trio, a trait Harry and Ron had often taken advantage of. At least Harry had a job and a flat now, but Ron was still mentally stuck in his Hogwarts days. He barely knew how to make himself a sandwich and on his second day living at Hermione's, he had burned soup. Hermione didn't even know that was possible.

Fortunately, he had learned the components of basic hygiene, but unfortunately he hadn't really progressed past that. He showered at least every other day and brushed his teeth occasionally. Well, at least he owned a toothbrush. Hermione didn't want to think too closely about the details.

As much as she wanted him to move out, she honestly wasn't sure if he could even survive on his own.

His job hunt was also not proceeding as Hermione had hoped. Ron refused to consider any position other than professional Quidditch player and since tryouts were not until the following April, he didn't see any need to start training now. The trio had each received a handsome financial reward for their role in the war and while Hermione immediately deposited all of hers into her Gringotts account, Ron had decided to live off of it, putting off the job market and adult life as long as possible.

After two weeks, Draco and Hermione were getting desperate. They knew they needed a plan. They met for lunch at the Ministry to discuss their options. They knew it was a Ron-free zone there because after his latest poisoned-flu-potion debacle, he had stopped visiting Harry at work and stayed away as much as possible.

"We need to get him out," Hermione stated firmly.

"Obviously," Draco responded, "But how do we do so?"

"Well I've tried to get him to apply for jobs, but he's not interested in anything."

"What if we left a trail of doughnuts out the front door and into the hallway and then locked him out once he followed it?" Draco suggested.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Not productive, Draco."

"Well I think my plan has a better chance than you getting him a job."

Hermione conceded that he had a point.

They brainstormed a few more ideas, Hermione's mainly practical and Draco's mainly ridiculous, but couldn't come up with anything solid.

And just then, a miracle fell into their laps.

Seamus Finnegan sat down at their table and spoke maybe the most beautiful words Draco had ever heard.

"Have you two heard of anyone looking for a roommate? I just found this perfect flat but it's a 2-bedroom and I can't afford the rent by myself."

Draco and Hermione made eye contact and both immediately developed large grins.

Draco had just begun to tell Seamus that they indeed had the perfect roommate for him, but Hermione cut him off mid-sentence.

"Actually, Seamus, can I talk to Draco for a minute?"

"Sure, I'll go buy my lunch and meet you back here in five," Seamus responded, leaving the two alone once again.

"Are you crazy?" Draco immediately turned on her. "This is the answer to our prayers!"

"I know, I know," Hermione began, "But just think about this for a minute. Ronald Weasley and Seamus Finnegan living together. It's going to be a disaster."

Draco thought for a moment. He pictured piles of dirty dishes and laundry, frequent explosions, and possible starvation, or at least malnutrition. _How long could someone survive on cereal and peanut butter sandwiches?_

"Ok, you have a point there. But at this point, this might be the best chance we get."

Hermione acknowledged that he was right.

"I just don't know if we can do that to them, or to the people in their building, or to humanity in general."

"Every man for himself," Draco responded. "Look, you can't keep babying him. At some point, he needs to grow up. Maybe this is the first step for him."

Hermione considered this and they both looked up to find Seamus returning to the table.

"Seamus," Hermione began, "Where is your flat, by the way?"

Seamus named a location that was on the other side of town from Hermione. She mentally made a check mark in her mind.

"And how many people live in your building?"

"Only one other couple – it's a small building and we have the top floor, while they have the bottom floor. They're hardly ever home, though."

Another check mark. This might actually work.

Hermione now allowed herself a full smile.

"Well, Seamus, I think we have the _perfect_ roommate for you."

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It took another week for them to put everything together for the new flat, but finally, three weeks after he arrived, Ron again stood in her living room with his knapsack.

They said their goodbyes, gave giant hugs with promises to see each other at the next Sunday brunch, and just like that, Ron was through her floo and out of her apartment.

Hermione and Draco turned to face each other, took a deep breath, and exhaled. The sudden silence was simultaneously a relief and exciting.

"Well what do we do now?" Hermione asked after a moment.

"Actually, there's something I've wanted to do for weeks now," Draco responded. "Something I've been waiting to do, something I've dreamed of doing."

"You want to vacuum, don't you?"

"SO BADLY," Draco shouted, racing for the utility closet. Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile, reached for that morning's _Prophet_, and headed to the terrace to enjoy her first solace in weeks.

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A week later, Draco was standing in the Potions Lab, stirring his current concoction counter-clockwise for seven and a half minutes. He was much calmer than he had been the week before; with the removal of Ron from their lives, he and Hermione had quickly resumed their normal routine and both of their stress levels had almost visibly decreased.

Their closeness had resumed as well. Draco thought back on the previous week as he stirred his cauldron, remembering how he had made her laugh so hard at dinner a few nights ago that she hadn't been able to finish her food, how they had fallen asleep together on the couch two nights ago, how he had come so close to kissing her the day before.

He knew the moment was coming – knew that it was almost inevitable at this point. He knew that he had feelings for her – strong feelings. And he was pretty sure that she felt the same way. He felt his stomach churn as he considered the implications of these feelings. They were exciting, yet also terrifying.

He finished his last few seconds of stirring and the potion suddenly turned a shiny, iridescent green. He smiled at his work and deposited the potion into the vials he had waiting on the table next to him.

Just as he finished, Dean popped his head into the lab.

"Hey Draco? When you get a minute, Kingsley asked you to stop by his office."

Now Draco's stomach was churning for a completely different reason. He gulped.

"Thanks, Dean. I'll head up there in a moment."

He moved slowly now, cleaning up his station and putting his vials on the cart of completed potions. He knew he was putting off the meeting, but couldn't bring himself to move any faster.

What was this about? Had his trial been canceled? Had they already decided his guilt?

Finally, he headed up to the Minister's office. Most of the witches and wizards he encountered on the way there ignored him or nodded politely – a completely different reception than he had received a few months ago. Several continued to scowl at him, however.

He hesitated for a moment outside Kingsley's office before knocking on the door. The Minister invited him inside and Draco entered slowly, finally taking a seat in the plush chair in front of Kingsley's desk.

"Good afternoon, Minister Shacklebolt," Draco began nervously.

Kingsley smiled.

"Don't worry, Draco, you're not in trouble. I actually wanted to follow up on that request you made of me a few weeks ago – to visit your parents in Azkaban."

Draco had completely forgotten about the request – with the sudden presence of Ron and the increased stress that accompanied him, Draco had completely forgotten that he had asked to visit his parents.

"Are you still interested in visiting them?" Kingsley asked.

Draco went to nod his head, but paused a moment in thought. Was he interested in seeing his parents? He had built such a life for himself now and had moved so far away from old prejudices and hatreds. Still, he knew that if he said no, he would be avoiding them and hiding from his problems.

He nodded his assent.

"I have arranged for you to visit them next Monday. Does that work for you?"

Draco nodded again. Today was Friday, meaning he only had a few days to prepare himself.

"Miss Granger unfortunately will not be able to accompany you, but I have secured several aurors to act as guards. Do you agree to these terms?"

"Yes, I prefer them actually. I think Rita Skeeter would have a field day if I went to meet with convicted Death Eaters unaccompanied," Draco responded.

"That's exactly what I was thinking. In fact, let's try to keep this visit quiet. We all know what the press can do if they want a story badly enough."

Draco agreed and thanked Kingsley for arranging the meeting. He shook the Minister's hand and headed back to his lab, his head filled with thoughts.

In three days, he would be seeing his parents again. What would they think of him now? What would he think of himself after meeting with them?


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

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A/N: I'm back! I know it's been A WHILE and I'm super grateful if you're still reading. I thought I would have more time before/during/after the wedding craziness to write, but, surprise surprise, I didn't even have a spare minute. Updates will probably be slower now than they were during the summer because I'm teaching again and getting back to my dissertation. But I promise I'm not abandoning this! I'm hoping to post updates roughly every other week.

And as always, all HP rights belong to Mrs. Jo Rowling.

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Draco stood facing a cold, dark stone fireplace. This was it – the moment he had been waiting for and dreading for days – and probably for longer than that. Normally Draco was a master of his nerves, never showing any signs of anxiety or breaking a sweat. Over the last few days, however, even he could not keep his nerves from rising to the surface and visibly asserting their presence.

For one, his appetite had nearly disappeared. He wasn't sure who was more disappointed: Hermione, who missed his cooking, or Molly, who missed him eating her cooking. He also hadn't slept well at all over the last few days. While he had been used to distracting dreams of late, the ones haunting him over the last few days were the opposite of the sexy, Hermione-filled dreams. They were instead filled with his father's sneer, Death Eater robes, and dementors.

Perhaps the most alarming change in his behavior had been his sudden silence. Instead of complaining, teasing, or flirting with Hermione, he found himself lost in his own thoughts day after day, incapable of working up the energy to communicate or poke fun. He had spent most of the past few days in his room.

Hermione had been very patient with him. She knew what he was preparing for and knew he needed his space. Molly had been less accommodating at Sunday Brunch, but had stopped badgering him after about twenty minutes of persistent questioning.

He had spent a large part of the past few days staring at the scar on his arm – the tangible sign of his inescapable past. Hermione had caught him looking at it several times and her look of concern told him that she sensed his anxiety and regret. He knew that no matter what he did, no matter what his future held, that mark would remain forever on his arm. It was the one thing he could never change.

And now he stood, facing this fireplace. This simple, basic fireplace. He knew it would be the conduit to Azkaban, set up specifically for this trip and under constant supervision by the Minister of Magic himself. He stood with Kingsley and a few members of the Department of Magical Transportation, waiting for the aurors who were to accompany them. Kingsley was busy reminding everyone of their vows to secrecy. No one could know of this trip. It would reflect badly on the Ministry for allowing a criminal to visit other criminals. It would reflect badly on Draco for _wanting_ to visit convicted Death Eaters. No one could know what was about to happen in this small room with this simple, dark fireplace.

Finally, the two aurors arrived. Draco was happy that he did not recognize them; today was not a day he wanted to be accompanied by anyone with whom he would feel obligated to exchange in small talk. Given their cold greeting, the goal of avoiding conversation was mutual.

Both aurors were clearly veterans. One sported a grizzled beard, which covered up several still-visible scars on his face. The other had a more recent mark – a long scratch that stretched from his right check to his left shoulder. Draco was pretty sure he didn't want to hear the story behind that one.

Beardy, as Draco now thought of him, narrowed his eyes at Draco, quickly sizing him up. His eyes lingered for a few seconds on Draco's Dark Mark, scowling at it. _You and me both, pal, _Draco thought. After a moment, Beardy gave him a curt nod. Scratchy, as Draco now thought of the other one, refused to look at him.

Draco could tell they were quickly on their way to becoming the best of chums.

Kingsley finished giving the Transportation team instructions and activated the fireplace. He scooped a handful of floo powder out of a bag on the mantle and cast it into the flames. The flames turned green and Draco gulped. _Now or never_.

Kingsley turned to the three of them.

"This fireplace will connect you directly to Azkaban. Once there, you will meet two guards who will escort you to a private visitation chamber. Draco, you will be allowed to visit with your parents, but will be under observation the entire time. Should you make any attempt to escape or aid your parents in escaping, you will be immediately taken into custody. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded quickly. "Absolutely."

"This fireplace will remain active for two hours, during which time I will remain here monitoring it personally. You must return within those two hours. Do you understand?" Kingsley asked again. Draco realized just then how much Kingsley was putting on the line for him. He felt humbled.

Again, he nodded, taking care to look Kingsley in the eye this time, to really communicate how appreciative he was of this opportunity.

After the brief exchange, the trio of Draco and his two auror pals stepped into the green flames. Beardy shouted "Azkaban!" and the three spun on the spot, disappearing into the green flames.

Within seconds, the three emerged from a similar fireplace in a very different location. They dusted themselves off and quickly met the two guards they had been promised: a large, muscular man and a wiry, firm looking woman.

Scratchy looked over the two guards before announcing something that confused Draco.

"Lies are the property of thieves and scoundrels."

"Always tell the truth, even if you have to lie to do it," the guard responded, confusing Draco even more.

The four men shook hands and Draco realized what had happened – they had exchanged passcodes to ensure that no one was an imposter. Draco was impressed at the level of security. It was a touch disheartening, however, to know he was still so much of a threat that he required this much security.

It wasn't a promising sign.

He didn't have time to worry about the trial now, however: he had a much more pressing worry – confronting his parents. And that was coming up right now.

The four men and one woman walked down a long, sterile hallway. Even though the dementors were nowhere near this part of the complex, Draco could still feel the chill in the air from their presence. He shuddered involuntarily.

They ascended a staircase for several floors and walked down a few more hallways, turning every so often. It was a good thing Draco had no plans to escape, for he would never be able to retrace this route without the guards.

Finally, they reached a large metal door and entered a small viewing chamber that looked into the room where Draco would meet with his parents. He could see through the large window that they were already there, sitting in hard metal chairs at a small table.

What he saw almost broke his heart. He had thought his father had looked shabby and downtrodden when Voldemort fell, but that was nothing compared to how he looked now. He was gaunt, his clothes hanging off of his nearly-bare bones. His hair had fallen out in patches and there were large, dark circles under his eyes. He looked hollow, empty.

Next to Lucius sat Narcissa. When Draco saw her, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. His mother seemed to have aged 40 years since the last time he had seen her. Her hair had turned completely grey and hung limply on her shoulders. Her eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. She wore grey robes, but her skin looked ashen on its own. Prison had not been easy on either of his parents.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself before entering the room and taking the chair at the table across from his parents. Narcissa continued to gaze into space, but Lucius immediately stared down his son. Draco was encouraged to find life behind his eyes, even if it was filled with hate and rage. He felt pity for his father – even sympathy.

That is, until his father opened his mouth.

"Well Draco, I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think you had forgotten your parents, your own flesh and blood, the people who have taken care for you for your whole spoiled existence," Lucius declared haughtily.

Draco stammered, unsure of how to respond. "I've been under house arrest…" he began, but was quickly cut off by Lucius.

"Oh yes, poor Draco has been living under house arrest. We've heard all about your _trials_. Yes, in the seven months since the Dark Lord fell you have spent your time carousing with muggles, working for the Ministry, even becoming a lapdog for the Minister himself. Honestly Draco, I've never been so disappointed in you."

Draco couldn't decide which was less believable – his father's behavior or the idea that he had expected him to act any differently. Still, he was stunned into silence by his father's biting words. Unfortunately, his reluctance to respond only encouraged Lucius to speak more.

"This is not the son I raised. You're nothing but a sniveling coward, clinging to the skirts and robes of the same pathetic scum that we worked so hard to eliminate. You're one of _them_ now Draco – no better than a common mudblood. I never in my life thought I would live to see the day when my own son, _my own flesh and blood_, became a blood traitor." He practically spat the last words at his son.

Draco swallowed, still unsure of how to respond.

"Are you even working to get us out?" Lucius asked. "Are you even preparing for a possible return of the Dark Lord? Or what if a large group of his followers gain power again – how will you look then? How will they accept you?"

"Maybe I don't want to be accepted by them," Draco responded, finally finding his voice.

"Well I hope you don't, because they will stomp you out like a cockroach, just as they will do with all of your horrible mudblood, blood-traitor friends. Honestly, Draco, you could at least be working to get us out of here."

"If you haven't noticed, I've been sort of busy trying to help myself," Draco replied.

"Well at least you're still self-interested. If I saw any visible altruism from you I might just puke. What have you been doing with yourself then, if you're not trying to free your parents or pursue the cause for which they gave their freedom?"

Draco thought for a moment before responding.

"What have I been doing? I've been… living," he answered simply.

"Well if that's your idea of living, I hope this is my last breath," Lucius responded curtly. He stood from the table and looked to the guards.

"I am ready to return to my cell," he declared. The guards entered and escorted him out. He did not turn around to see his son or his wife.

Narcissa had spent the entire meeting staring into space. She had not uttered a syllable and Draco wondered if she had even comprehended anything that had passed between him and his father.

Draco turned to face her now.

"And what about you? What do you think of your son?"

Her silence persisted and she continued to stare into space.

"Are you disappointed in me?

He still received no response. His cool exterior began to falter. He stood from the table and began pacing the room in front of her.

"Come on, let's hear it. Let's hear all about how disgusting it is that I live with a muggleborn. Let's hear all about how I've wasted the opportunities you fought to create for me."

Still no response.

"What do you want from me?!" He shouted, finally unleashing his frustration. "What do you want me to do?!"

At his outburst, the guards began to move and Draco realized he had overstepped his bounds. He immediately put his hands in the air and turned to face them.

"I'm fine, I'm leaving, don't worry," he reassured them, his voice returning to its normal cadence.

Beardy nodded and motioned for him to leave.

Draco gave his mother one last look, observing her vacant eyes with a strange mix of pity and envy. As he walked toward the door, he heard her utter one word, so quietly that he couldn't make it out.

He turned to face her.

"What was that?"

She didn't respond for a moment, and he wondered if he had imagined the whole thing. As he turned to leave a second time, however, she finally turned to face him.

She stared at him with eyes that were suddenly full of life, purpose, desperation, and urgency, with tears welling at their corners. After staring at him for a few seconds, she repeated the word she had uttered a moment before.

"Live."

"Live?" Draco asked, confused.

"Yes, Draco, live. I want you to live."

He held her eye contact and nodded solemnly, swallowing a lump in his throat as he watched a tear run down his mother's cheek.

"I will," he promised her in a voice barely above a whisper.

Scratchy pounded on the window, motioning for him to leave.

He looked at his mother for one final moment, gave her what he hoped was a somewhat reassuring smile, and headed for the exit.

He walked down the winding hallways and staircases with his four guards all around him. The walk seemed to go faster than it had when they arrived. Before he knew it, they were back at the fireplace. The two aurors from the Ministry shook hands with the Azkaban guards and Draco, Beardy, and Scratchy entered the flames, swirled on the spot, and arrived back at the Ministry within seconds of Beardy shouting "Ministry of Magic!".

The trio stepped out of the fireplace and dusted themselves off. The aurors shook hands with Kingsley before turning to leave.

Scratchy quickly walked away, eager to get back to his other duties, but Beardy paused. After thinking for a moment, he turned to face Draco.

"You know, my father was a real ass too."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond, but gave a small, thankful smile.

Beardy responded with a curt nod and quickly left.

Kingsley turned to Draco after the brief exchange. "I take it the meeting went well?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh, yes, he was delighted to see me. I'm practically sore from all the hugging," he responded, equally facetious.

Kingsley chuckled for a moment, before turning serious.

"I can tell you're disappointed, Draco. I hope the trip was still worthwhile for you."

"It was." He paused for a moment before continuing. "It gave me a lot to think about."

Kingsley nodded understandingly and the two left the private floo chamber, shaking hands before parting ways and heading to their respective destinations: Kingsley to his office, Draco to the Potions Lab.

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When Draco returned to the lab, he tried to push his thoughts of his parents out of his head. He looked at the assignment Dean had left for him: twenty vials of sleeping draught – that was easy enough. He headed to the supply cupboard to gather his ingredients. When he got back to his station, however, he discovered that he had grabbed four sprigs of dandelion instead of lavender. And he had only taken half as many valerian sprigs as he needed. He shook his head, trying to regain his focus.

An hour later, he was still having trouble. He had ruined virtually every step of the potion. He had added the wrong ingredient at the wrong time, the wrong quantities of ingredients, and even a few things that had no business being in his cauldron at all. He had stirred clockwise instead of counter-clockwise _twice_ and had forgotten to set his timer when it was supposed to stew for thirty minutes.

He felt like Longbottom.

He stared into the murky bottom of his cauldron, watching his creation bubbling ominously. He sighed before dumping it down the drain. Fortunately Dean had installed a magical drain that could take hazardous potions (after several mishaps during Neville's internship). Otherwise Draco was sure his afternoon's work would have wreaked havoc on the Ministry's plumbing system.

He gave up for the day and spent the last twenty minutes of his shift cleaning his station and reorganizing the supply cupboard.

When Hermione came to escort him home at 5:00, she found a very confused, disheartened Draco. She could tell the visit to the Ministry had not gone well.

They walked to the floo in silence with none of their usual rapport or recent flirtation.

When they got home, Hermione asked Draco what he wanted to do for dinner.

"Mind if I skip tonight?" he asked, avoiding eye contact. "I'm just not too hungry. I actually have a headache – I might just tuck in for the evening."

Hermione could tell something was wrong, but knew better than to pester him.

"Sure," she responded reluctantly. "Let me know if you need anything."

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Those brief words were the last that they spoke that week. Hermione quickly grew frustrated with Draco's persistent isolation, but tried to control her patience and remind herself that this was not about her.

Draco barely noticed her frustration, so deeply was he enmeshed in his own thoughts. Long, sleepless nights were followed by slow-moving, anxious days. He knew he had a difficult decision ahead of him – one that would define the course of the rest of his life.

His mother's desperate face floated in his memory. Her final instructions, to live, echoed in his mind. But what did it mean? What did it mean to "live?" And what kind of life should he choose? He knew he had used the term himself in his conversation with Lucius, but still wasn't completely sure what he had meant by it – what he wanted it to mean for him.

His father's words still weighed on him. His first instinct was to disagree with Lucius, but years of an intensely hate-filled upbringing still held a sharp grip on his mind.

Should he be trying to resurrect his father's movement?

Should he be preparing for a possible return of the Dark Lord?

And what would his father say if he knew Draco's true feelings for Hermione?

At that last thought, Draco shuddered. He had been unsure of his feelings and what he should do about them before his visit and now he was even more confused.

As if she could read his mind, Draco heard a knock on his bedroom door. He briefly wondered what time it was or even what day it was – he had lost track of time a lot this week.

At first, he ignored her knock. Maybe she would think he was asleep.

"I know you're not asleep, Draco!" he heard on the other side of the door. So much for that.

He remained silent. She knocked again, more loudly and insistently.

Finally he dragged himself off the bed and headed to the door. His body felt like dead weight and even the small movement made him tired. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten a full meal, but couldn't recall anything recent.

He made his way to the door and hesitantly opened it a few inches.

Seeing her again, really _seeing_ her for the first time that week, took his breath away. All confusion disappeared and as he looked into her eyes, he started to realize that he may not even have a choice. He might be facing inevitability.

Hermione stood nervously in his doorway, her hands behind her back. She chewed on her bottom lip and swallowed before addressing Draco.

"I know that you've had a tough week and that you've been thinking through a lot," she began. "I've been trying to think of ways that I could help-"

Draco cut her off. "This isn't like that, Granger. There's nothing you can do."

"I know. I know that I can't force you to sit down and talk with me. I know that no matter how many times I tell you that you're a worthwhile person, you won't believe me. I know that I can't pry what happened on Monday out of you and I can't say anything to make it better."

Draco wondered why she was here if she knew there was nothing she could do. He watched as she slowly brought her hands in front of her and wondered what she was holding.

"There might not be anything I can say to fix what's going on in your head, but I did think of one small thing I could do that might help a bit." She held out what looked like a strip of black fabric. As he looked closer, he saw that it was a sort of tube.

"It's like a sleeve, made out of really strong, stretchy fabric. I thought you could use it to cover your… you know, your Dark Mark. I noticed you scowling at it the other day and I thought it might be nice to cover it up for a while."

"Covering it up won't make it disappear, Granger. I'm stuck with it forever."

"I know that, but by covering it up, you can remind yourself of how you're changing – of your future, rather than your past."

Draco thought for a moment before reaching out for the small gift. He hesitantly slid it over his forearm. He had expected the sleeve to do nothing – to feel exactly the same after putting it on. He was surprised to find, therefore, that even just wearing the sleeve over the Mark made him feel better.

He looked up at Hermione, tears welling in his eyes, both from the touching gift and the extremely emotionally exhausting week he had just endured.

He started to thank her, but couldn't find words. His eyes locked with hers, and he knew she understood. He swallowed a lump in his throat and finally began to speak. He looked at his feet.

"Thanks, Granger. I really don't know what to say. I don't think I deserve this – I think I deserve to stare at this scar every day of my life, to remind myself what a monster I was… what a monster I am."

"You're not a monster, Draco," she countered, reaching out her hand to grip his arm.

The touch electrified him and his eyes shot to hers.

In her eyes he found everything he had been searching for that week: reassurance that he was on the right path, that he was different from his father, that he could find a fresh start in this world.

And as he held her gaze, he realized just how ready he was for that fresh start.

He swallowed hard and moved before he lost his nerve. Quickly he brought his hands up to cup her face and brought her lips to his. His kiss was firm and strong, a sign of confidence and decisiveness. After a moment's surprise, Hermione responded, kissing him back and reaching up to grip his elbows.

After a moment they parted and Draco rested his forehead against hers.

And for the first time that week, for the first time that year, for perhaps the first time in his life, Draco felt true peace.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

A/N: First of all, I am SO SO SORRY for the delay. Remember that time I thought I'd have time to post every other week? HAHA GOOD ONE, WING. Right now I am teaching, writing my dissertation, and working at a journal, so unfortunately I don't have much writing time. It's also super weird being married - suddenly my single-lady evenings spent watching trashy tv and binging on the internet have vanished. Silly husband, thinking I should actually spend *time* with him. Further updates will probably be similarly spaced - once a month or so, though I would LOVE to cut that time down if I get a chance. Please don't give up on me!

As always, I don't own anything HP - all of that belongs to the fabulous Jo Rowling. This might actually be important for this chapter because I have something that's very close to a quote and might be an actual quote (I'm at work and don't want to wait until I get home to check). So anyway, credit to JKR! Happy reading :-)

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Saturday afternoon found Draco and Hermione lazily cuddling on the sofa, the television playing a long-forgotten show quietly in the background. Draco closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of having Hermione's head tucked snugly onto his chest, his arms circling her. He hummed quietly as Hermione traced lazy circles on his arm with her fingertips.

They had slept on this couch last night. After their first kiss had led to a second kiss and to a third and to several others, Hermione had maneuvered them out of Draco's doorway and into the living room, not yet ready to take the action to either of their bedrooms. They had collapsed onto this couch, eager to unleash the pent-up feelings they both had been experiencing for weeks.

At first, Hermione had tried to count the kisses – 1, 2, 9 – but around 15, she lost count. She couldn't believe how gentle he was. She had always expected Draco to be rough, domineering, but instead he was tender, yet confident. With each kiss, she found herself falling deeper and deeper into the sensations and feelings she was developing.

They had not meant to sleep on the couch. Hermione Granger was not the sort of girl to sleep with a man on the first date – and this wasn't even a date. Yet there they ended up. She did technically _sleep_ with him, but that was all they did – the exhausting week had overruled even their most amorous intentions.

And now, as they lazed away the morning on the couch, those amorous intentions had again been overruled, this time by the desire to simply share space and enjoy closeness with each other.

Hermione lifted her heavy eyelids to glance up at Draco. When she caught his eye, he smiled down at her. She smiled back and he reached down to kiss her forehead. This innocent kiss quickly led to less innocent ones and Hermione reached up her hand to lace her fingers through Draco's hair, bringing his face closer to hers.

They shared a deep, satisfying kiss before Draco broke away to trace a line of kisses down her neck. Just as he reached her collarbone, there was a sound that broke both of them from their reverie: the fireplace.

They broke apart as if each had been burned by the other and sprung to opposite ends of the sofa.

Ron's face materialized in the flames.

"Hermione?"

"Yes Ronald?" she responded, trying to catch her breath and pretend like everything was normal. Hermione Granger was a terrible actress, but fortunately for her, Ronald Weasley was an even more terrible observer.

"What are you doing?"

"Ummm… sitting here and watching the telly?" Hermione responded. _Was he onto her?_

Of course not.

"What I meant was, why are you in your flat and not here at the Halloween Party? It started an hour ago. Mum's worried sick!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. The Halloween Party! How could she have forgotten! She sprung to her feet.

"I'm so sorry Ron – I've been so distracted by… work… that I completely forgot about it! We'll be over in a few minutes!"

Ron rolled his eyes, oblivious to her near slip of the tongue, and disappeared from the flames.

Hermione turned to Draco, her panicked eyes meeting his laughing ones.

"What is so funny about this?" she demanded.

"The perfect Hermione Granger just forgot about a plan she had made!" Draco responded, barely bothering to try to contain his laughter.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to stop teasing me now?" she asked, with her hands on her hips.

"Oh, because we snogged a little I have to be all nice to you now?" he retorted, rolling his eyes.

"A little? I think we've snogged A LOT."

Draco quickly dismissed her response. "I'll show you snogging A LOT," he answered, lunging across the living room for her, but she deftly eluded his grasp.

"Draco! Are you insane?! We don't have time for that right now!" She ran up to her bedroom, shouting as she went. "We have to come up with costumes right now!"

"Are you serious?! We're not children, Granger. Do we seriously need to dress up?"

She turned as she reached her doorway. Now it was her time to roll her eyes. "We're going to a Halloween party hosted by Molly Weasley at the Burrow. Do I even need to answer that question?"

With that, she disappeared into her room.

Draco considered his surroundings, wondering if there's anything he could make into a costume.

He could very easily go as a bookshelf. But it might get a bit heavy and cumbersome.

He considered the sofa cushions, the kitchen appliances he could see through the open doorway, the dining room chairs – why did Hermione own nothing that could be turned into a last minute costume? Wasn't this something she should have been prepared for? The woman had fought Voldemort, for goodness sake. She was supposed to be _prepared_.

Deciding that he was no help, Draco flopped back on the sofa to catch the end of their long-abandoned television program. He had only managed to enjoy a few minutes of peace, however, before Hermione burst downstairs, her hands holding an odd assortment of objects. She held a cowboy hat, a feather boa, and some sort of grass skirt.

"Bloody Hell, Granger, where did all of this shit come from?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Long story," Granger responded unhelpfully. "But I can't do anything with any of it! Why can't I think of a single idea!"

"Granger, I hate to point this out, but one of us has a _wand_. You could pretty much create anything you wanted out of thin air," Draco offered.

"Well actually I would have to transfigure or charm a preexisting object…" she began, but Draco cut her off with a very pronounced eye roll.

"But you're right!" she continued. And then Hermione Granger got a very scary gleam in her eye – a gleam that sent Draco back a few steps. She raised her wand menacingly.

"What are you going to do with that thing, Granger? Remember the snogging!"

She cackled maniacally, and Draco realized something that simultaneous terrified him and turned him on: his Slytherinness was rubbing off on her.

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Laughter often filled the halls and cozy rooms of the Burrow, but never had it reached such a high volume as when Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, dragging an incredibly reluctant Draco behind her.

Harry was doubled over, clutching his sides. Ginny was practically crying. Ron loudly declared "This is the best day of my life!"

The cause of their joy, as it turned out, was Draco's Halloween costume, forced upon him by a very persuasive witch with a wand.

His hair had been turned bright red and a scattering of freckles now peppered his cheeks. With one quick wave of her wand, Hermione had transformed Draco into his worst nightmare, the most terrifying thing he could imagine – a _Weasley_.

Now George stepped forward.

"Wait, don't tell me – red hair and hand-me-down robes – you must be a Weasley!"

At this recollection of Draco's early days at Hogwarts, the entire room burst into laughter. Even Draco had to fight to keep the snarl on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Isn't there supposed to be food at this thing?" he asked, searching for something to change the subject.

Ginny hooked her arm through his to lead him to the kitchen. "Right through here, brother!" she announced. Draco rolled his eyes.

"And who are you supposed to be?" Ron asked Hermione.

She pointed to her beehive hairdo and produced a colorful quill from her purse.

"Why Miss Rita Skeeter, herself, of course." She had thought it up quickly upon seeing the horror on Draco's face after his transformation. If Draco's worst nightmare was waking up a Weasley, Hermione's might just be waking up as the pernicious journalist.

Now she surveyed Ron, but couldn't tell if he had dressed up intentionally or not. He was wearing his favorite Chudley Cannons jersey, as well as the rest of his quidditch gear. Hermione noted that at least the jersey seemed cleaner than usual – perhaps Seamus enjoyed doing laundry.

"Decide to go as yourself today, Ron?" she asked.

Ron instantly looked affronted. "I'm Galvin Gudgeon! Only the most famous Chudley Cannon seeker of the last century! Honestly, woman, do you ever listen when I talk to you?" He threw up his arms, offended, and stalked off after Ginny and Draco to get some food.

Harry chuckled at their antics before ushering Hermione into the kitchen after everyone.

"How'd you talk Draco into that?" Harry asked as they walked.

"I didn't. I have a wand; he doesn't," she responded.

"Still, it seems like the type of thing he typically would have fought pretty hard," pressed Harry.

Hermione was suddenly nervous – was Harry suspicious? Did he suspect something had recently changed between Hermione and Draco to make him more willing to go along with her whims? She felt her face turning red but tried to control it.

"Oh, well of course he did," she quickly responded, "but I promised him full television access and control for the next two weeks, so eventually he went along with it." She took a deep breath. Hopefully her quick fib would throw Harry off the scent.

It appeared to do the trick. Harry laughed and quickly became distracted by the plethora of baked goods piled on the kitchen table.

Molly always provided an impressive spread, but she had outdone herself today. Hermione ogled the mountains of tarts, pumpkin pasties, and apple cider donuts. And this was just the _dessert_ table.

.

.

Earlier that day, Hermione and Draco had been cuddled up on the couch, locked in a spell of romance and attraction. Now, they both sat on either end, their stomachs filled to bulging, so stuffed that they could barely move.

Draco looked over to her, his hair now blonde again and the freckles vanished from his flawless skin.

"Fancy a snack?" he asked.

Hermione threw a pillow at him in response.

"Geez Granger, only kidding. No reason to resort to violence." He expected this to elicit a chuckle, but instead was met by silence. He looked over to find her chewing on her left cheek, twirling her hair around her right finger – clearly all signs that she was nervous about something.

"Ok, Granger, out with it. What's bugging you?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and turned to face him, her face now clearly displaying worry.

"Do you think they noticed?"

"Noticed what? How stunningly handsome I am even with that ghastly hair and freckles? I sure hope so."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No, you dunce. _Us_. Do you think anyone noticed _us_?"

"Well considering that you wouldn't come within ten feet of me or even make eye contact with me all day, I doubt that anyone picked up on the fact that we basically snogged all night. And all morning," he added with a wink.

"Maybe I should have talked to you _more_- maybe staying away from you will make them even more suspicious!" Now she chewed both sides of her cheeks.

It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. Summoning all of his strength, he rolled off of the couch and kneeled before her. He took her face in both of his hands, forcing her to look at him.

"No one noticed, Hermione. You know those guys – if they had even caught a whiff they would have teased us until kingdom come."

He saw the worry recede from her eyes. She reached out and held his hands.

"You're right," she admitted.

Draco grinned. "I love it when you say that."

"Well unfortunately I don't say it too often," she teased.

Both smiled as Draco leaned in for a soft kiss. After a brief moment, however, he pulled back.

"Do we have to keep this a secret?" he asked.

Hermione paused a moment before answering.

"I think so."

"Why?"

"Well, imagine what would happen if it got out. We'd be skewered in the press. You'd have no chance at the trial. They might not even let us finish the year – they might decide it was a conflict of interests and take you away tomorrow."

Draco considered this.

"Ok, Granger," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "We'll keep this to ourselves."

They sealed their agreement with a kiss, which quickly led to a second, to a third, to a ninth, and to an evening tangled together on the sofa.

.

.

It quickly turned out that their agreement was easier said than done. Both found themselves constantly distracted at their jobs. Hermione had awoken from several daydreams only when someone knocked on her door for the third time. Draco had started to ruin about a quarter of his potion output because he kept forgetting his place. Neither could stop thinking about the other and both looked forward to the end of the day, when they could travel through the floo together.

It was like they were living in a perfect bubble. As soon as they emerged through the fireplace into Hermione's apartment, they were all over each other. They spent every night cuddled in the living room, reading together, watching movies or television, or just talking. It was almost more exciting because it was secret – with no one else knowing, they felt like they had something special all to themselves.

Soon, however, the care they put into disguising their feelings and hiding their relationship began to deteriorate. One day, a week or so into their tryst, Hermione had walked down to the Potions Lab to deliver a message (which, of course, she could have just sent magically). Finding a moment alone together, they had taken the chance to let their guard down and try out the sturdiness of the laboratory countertops. Fortunately, they had heard Dean coming down the hallway just before he reached the door and had managed to quickly separate, smooth out their clothing, and resume some semblance of professional behavior.

As they grew closer, it took all of Draco's efforts to refrain from just touching her in public – putting his arm on his back, holding her hand, touching her hair – it was like they were magnetized and he couldn't resist her pull. At lunch, he would slip his hand onto her knee. In the hallway, when no one was watching, he would place his hand on her back or sneak a quick grope to her butt. Hermione always flushed, which was part of Draco's incentive.

Yes, theirs was a peaceful, bliss-filled bubble.

Until the day that it popped.

.

.

Hermione timidly knocked on Kingsley's door. She had been called to the Minister's office just a few minutes previously, the message asking that she come at once. She had never been so summoned and instantly became worried that something was wrong.

Her worries intensified when she entered to find Draco already there.

"Come in, Miss Granger. And close the door," said Kingsley.

Hermione did as instructed and took the remaining seat in front of his desk. She tried to avoid looking at Draco, feeling like if she did she would immediately expose herself and her feelings. Her efforts were for naught, however.

"I have to discuss something with the pair of you of a rather sensitive nature," Kingsley began hesitatingly.

Hermione was sweating bullets, but Draco remained cool, calm, and collected.

"Yes, Minister?" he asked. Hermione envied his Slytherin suavity.

"Recently, it has come to my attention that there might be something… going on between the two of you. I don't think I need to explain the significance of this to you."

Hermione gulped.

"What would give you that impression, sir?" Draco asked.

"The portraits have been gossiping for weeks now. They have noticed your… attentions, Mr. Malfoy. And I myself have noticed a certain distracted air among both of you over the last few weeks. And, judging by the scarlet color of Miss Granger's face, I'm guessing that I'm not far off."

Draco turned to Hermione, who was now beat red.

"Well, I guess that's that," he replied. "The cat's out of the bag now."

Suddenly Hermione broke her silence and gushed with tears and apologies.

"I'm so sorry Kingsley! We didn't mean for it to happen! It just… did! And now we've ruined everything! Are they going to cancel the entire trial now? Has it gotten to the _Prophet_?"

Kingsley interrupted her before she had a full-on panic attack in his office.

"For the moment, Miss Granger, we are fine. We were able to use a few specialized obliviation spells on the portraits and, as far as I know, no one knows but me and a few other Ministry higher-ups who will, I hope, remain discrete."

Hermione exhaled what felt like a gallon of carbon dioxide.

"But I must impress upon you the severity of this situation, Miss Granger. And you too, Mr. Malfoy. Should this continue – should someone outside of this office catch even a whiff of this – everything we've worked for will vanish into thin air. Your reputations will be destroyed. _My _reputation is on the line here too."

Hermione stood now, looking Kingsley directly in the eye.

"I can promise you sir, you have nothing left to worry about. Nothing will happen in the future."

Kingsley considered her for a moment, before nodding his head.

"Consider yourself warned." With that, he dismissed them.

Fortunately, it was almost the end of the day, so the pair headed to the floo, rather than to their offices.

For the past few weeks, this had been Draco's favorite time of the day – the time when they could leave the Ministry and just be together. They'd emerge from the fireplace smiling and laughing, happy to be able to kiss and show affection again.

Today, however, was entirely different. As soon as they got back to the flat, the air seemed charged with anxiety and fear.

They were silent and, after standing awkwardly for a moment in the living room, sat down on the sofa to have the talk that they both knew was now inevitable.

"Well I guess we'll just have to get better at hiding it," suggested Draco. He had hoped she would immediately agree, but he watched with trepidation as she avoided eye contact and chewed on her lower lap.

When she offered no response, he continued detailing his plan. "We'll avoid each other altogether. We won't even see each other except for coming and going. And we'll be extra careful not to mention each other in conversations with others. And we'll-"

Hermione cut him off before he could continue.

"You know we can't do that Draco."

"Why not?"

"Well we've already tried hiding it, for one, and clearly failed at that. And if we cut each other off altogether, it will just sabotage our chances at the trial. We need to show that you're sociable and harmless – hardly things we'll communicate by refusing to speak to or about each other."

"Well we'll try harder this time."

"Draco, I don't think you get it," she said sadly. "We can't keep this up. We can't just live in this little bubble in this flat and then turn into completely different people once we leave. _I_ can't live that way and I know you can't either."

Draco hesitated a moment. "So what are you saying, Granger?" He swallowed hard, preparing for her answer.

"I'm saying… that I think this needs to end," she replied, her voice breaking as she reached the final word. She continued to avoid eye contact, looking instead at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Draco asked.

Now Hermione's eyes flew up.

"You know that I'm not! You know that's not fair!" He could see how angry she was that he had even suggested it.

Now she stood up and began to pace the room, her arms swinging wildly.

"We never should have done this in the first place! This was so foolish of me! Don't you realize what we could have done, Draco? We could have jeopardized everything! The entire experiment!"

"Your reputation, you mean," suggested Draco angrily.

"No! Your life!" she shouted back. "This fling could cost you your life Draco!"

"_Fling?" _Draco shouted back.

The word hung in the air for a moment, neither willing to confirm or deny it as the status of their relationship.

Hermione looked away and took a deep breath.

"Well whatever it is, it's over now," she stated with finality.

"Well that's good to know, although apparently it can't be over since it was never anything more than a _fling_ to begin with." Draco stormed into his room and slammed his door.

Hermione stood in her empty living room, feeling like she could barely breathe. How was it possible that so much had happened in the last day? The last week? The last month? The last eight months? She struggled in vain to hold in her tears before heading to her room to find some headache potion. Neither emerged from their room and, for the first time in weeks, the couch remained empty that evening.

.

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A/N: Don't hate me! It had to happen! I promise I have a plan and that plan involves looooove!


End file.
